All Roads Lead to Rome
by Elizabeth Joan-hbndgirl
Summary: Robbery. Arson. Kidnapping. Revenge. As the Hardy and Nickerson detectives adjust to their new lives, three new cases threaten to destroy their happiness and force them to make choices they hoped they would never have to face. Part 6 of the Chapters series.
1. Prologue

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Hello, everybody! Thanks for reading this story and thank you in advance for any reviews you leave and/or for following or favoriting it. This story follows a little over a year after the main events of my last story,_ Black Rose, _and is in the_ Chapters _universe. If you haven't read any other stories in this arc of mine, that's okay! You should be able to follow along just fine. Here are a few highlights that will be helpful for you:_

 _Frank and Callie are 25 and have been married for a little less than a year. Callie was awarded a scholarship to an art school in Rome, and so she and Frank have spent their first year of marriage in Rome. While Callie is at school, Frank has been working on cases for Fenton that have a European angle._

 _Joe is 24. He's been adjusting to being single, and also to having his brother half a world away in Rome._

 _Nancy and Ned are 25 and 26, respectively, and have been married for four years. As of the end of_ Black Rose _, they were expecting their first child, so we'll see where that has gone. They are both private detectives and own a business called Nickerson & Nickerson, Private Investigators._

 _The Beretta family are distant relatives of Tony's and were introduced in_ Black Rose _, just so you're not wondering who this prologue is supposed to be about._

 _I hope you enjoy!_

 _ **All Roads Lead to Rome**_

Prologue

 _November 23 – New York City_

The heavy metal door swung closed behind Mario Beretta with an ominous clang. He shuddered in spite of himself.

 _This is ridiculous_ , he told himself. _He's not going to do anything to me._

He did his best to swallow his fears, but the surroundings were no help whatsoever. An abandoned apartment building in the inner city was hardly a comforting place to meet. The broken windows did nothing to keep the sound of the traffic out, which was still steady even now at the dead of night. Someone had graffitied the word _peace_ across the faded wallpaper, but their choice of bright red paint which had dripped down from the letters gave it sinister look. Mario shivered again and turned his flashlight aside.

"Do you have it?"

The sudden question coming from behind and without Mario having seen the speaker before it was asked made him jump and whirl around. His flashlight beam caught the face of a young man with dark hair and a scowl across his face. Mario let out a long breath, but he didn't allow himself to relax completely.

"No."

"What?" Mario thought the other young man was going to burst with his fury. He didn't, but he did let out a long string of expletives. "Do you think I asked for it just so you could not bring it? What were you thinking, you little son of a –"

"I wouldn't say that if I were you, Angelo," Mario interrupted him. "There's no need to drag our mother into this."

Angelo nearly snarled, and it took all Mario's willpower not to flinch. "Where is it?"

"I don't have it," Mario told him. "Even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you. Any money I have was a gift to help me with my expenses. I don't think bailing you out of trouble is one of the expenses they were thinking of."

The muscles in Angelo's face twitched. "They'll kill me I don't pay them."

Mario let out a long breath. "It can't be that bad. If you would just go to –"

"Who?" Angelo broke in. He waved his arm in the air wildly and began to pace in a small circle around the room. "Uncle Giovanni? You think he cares about us?" He spat on the floor. "He'd just as soon see me dead."

"That's not true." Mario clenched his free fist as he let the flashlight beam drop. "You know it's not."

"I don't care whether it is or not." Angelo halted abruptly and stared at Mario with an intensity that made him squirm. "I need that money. It's the only way. I don't care how I get it."

Mario took a step back, all his fears rushing back upon him. "All I've got with me is a twenty and my credit cards. You're not going to get too far with either of those. I mean, these people aren't going to take credit."

"You're forgetting the ring."

"You wouldn't." Mario's hand instinctively covered his pocket. He had been an idiot to bring the ring with him, but he didn't like to leave it behind, either. He would have never dreamed Angelo would try to take it.

A humorless smile twisted Angelo's lips. "So you do have it with you then. That should take care of everything."

Mario stepped backward again, scrambling for the door that he had entered through, but it was still too far away. "Ange, listen to me. I know you've made mistakes, but you don't need to do this. We'll all help you. Even the cops –"

"You're an idiot, Mario," Angelo hissed. He whipped something out of his pocket. There was a loud zap, and Mario collapsed to the floor.


	2. Chapter 1: Thanksgiving

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for following and/or favoriting! Thank you especially to max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, DusktoDawn21, and sm2003495 for your reviews on the Prologue!_

Chapter I

Thanksgiving

 _November 24 – Rome_

Callie Hardy opened the oven door and took a long, deep breath of the aroma that wafted out of it. "Mmm. That smells pretty good, if I do say so myself."

Her husband, Frank, grinned at her as he paused in his task of mashing potatoes. "It smells heavenly. A little bit like home."

"I still can't believe we had to special order a turkey." Callie shook her head. "It's so weird thinking about how easy it is to get them back home."

"A little homesick?" Frank asked.

"Well, this is the first Thanksgiving I've spent without my parents," Callie said. "It's such a family holiday, it feels weird just being the two of us."

"I could get used to it just being the two of us." Frank winked, but then he added, "I have to admit, I'm feeling a little homesick here. It would help if they at least celebrated Thanksgiving here."

Callie closed the oven. "Frank, are you changing your mind?"

"About staying? No. It'll be nice to have a few weeks at home over Christmas to see everybody, but I like the idea of staying in Rome for another year. I mean, it's not everyday you get an opportunity to live abroad for this long, and if Dad is finding it handy to have a connection in Europe, I'm happy to oblige. Besides, after you finish school, we can actually have some time for each other in this city. I wouldn't want to pass up that opportunity."

Callie closed her eyes and sighed happily. "I could get used to it. I wouldn't mind if this part of our lives went on forever."

"Same here." Frank set down the utensils he was using and wiped his hands. He went to his wife and put his arms around her. "You know the best thing about being here?"

"What?"

"I don't have to share you with the Black Friday sales."

Callie burst into laughter at the ridiculous contrast between the comment and what she had been expecting. "Oh, come on. You don't really mind me getting some bargains," she teased in return.

"I do when it means I don't get to spend as much time with you." Frank grinned back at her.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that this year."

They leaned forward and kissed one another, each thinking about how perfect these first ten months of their marriage had been. Callie was finishing out her degree in art at the San Luca Insituto delle Belle Arti in Rome where she had a scholarship, and so Frank had come with her after they had been married in January. They had found a small, overpriced flat, but it was their first home together and they loved it anyway. Frank was still able to work for his dad, as Fenton Hardy often took cases that had international aspects to it. It had meant that Frank had had to travel into several other countries in Europe without Callie, who had far too heavy a class load for traveling to be feasible. Nevertheless, they had made good use of their time when Frank wasn't traveling and Callie took an evening off from studying, either exploring the romantic city or simply being together in their flat. Yes, it had been perfect, and even though they missed their family and friends back in the United States, neither of them wanted their time in Rome to end.

HBNDHBND

 _November 24 – Bayport_

It felt like an invasion. The Hardys always went all out with invitations for holidays, but this Thanksgiving, it felt like the entire town had descended on the Hardy home. Practically every relative they had was there, it seemed. Aunt Gertrude, obviously, was right where she liked to be on a day like this: in the kitchen, preparing her famous meals. Then there was also Cousin Ruth who was visiting from her ranch, bringing with her a rather handsome cowboy she had begun dating. Laura Hardy's mother was there, along with Laura's older sister, Anna, and her husband. Then there were also a number of Fenton's other cousins with their adult kids.

As if that myriad of relatives wasn't enough, practically all the Hardys' friends were there, too. Sam and Ethel Radley had come with their ever-growing family. Chief Collig and his wife, Con Riley, and a number of other Bayport PD officers and their spouses were there. Even the insufferable Captain Olaf had gotten an invitation, which he had pretended to be reluctant to accept although the Hardys knew perfectly well that he had been delighted to be invited. The Shaws had also come, according to long-standing tradition since they didn't have any family in town. Most of Joe's friends who still lived in town, including Tony Prito and Biff Hooper, dropped in for at least part of the day. Granted, Biff's visit was short since he and his girlfriend, Aleesha Miller, had been en route from her parents' place to his.

Yes, everyone was there. Except the people Joe would have most liked to see. He knew that his parents had only gone so overboard with invitations to take their minds off the fact that this was the first time in his life that Frank hadn't spent Thanksgiving with them and one of the few times in the last ten years that Callie hadn't. They had been dreading this Thanksgiving a little, but it had helped that the original plan had been for Frank and Callie to come home just in time for Christmas. Then Frank had announced that he and Callie were planning on staying in Rome longer, maybe even another year longer. Joe was trying to take Laura's advice and be happy that they were clearly having such a great time, but it wasn't easy.

"Hey, what's happening?" Biff plopped himself down on the couch next to Joe, interrupting Joe's thoughts. He was balancing a plate full of dessert in one hand while he waited for Aleesha to sit next to him so that he could put his arm around her. "We didn't take time away from our own families just so you can sit here and ignore us."

"No." Joe eyed the plate Biff was holding suspiciously. "It looks like you had another reason for coming."

"Fringe benefits," Biff replied, taking a bite out of slice of pumpkin pie.

Joe shook his head and then leaned forward so he could see Aleesha sitting on the other side of Biff. "You'd better keep an eye on him," he warned her. "Between eating dinner at your parents' and then having dessert here and then eating dinner at his parents, he's going to look like Chet Morton before too long."

Aleesha shook her own head mournfully. "I'm afraid not. This guy can eat enough to feed an army and not gain an ounce. It's not fair."

"Seems fair to me," Biff said, but at the withering glance that Aleesha gave him, he decided to drop the subject. "So, speaking of Chet, where is he? Does he realize he's missing out on your aunt's homemade pie?"

"He hasn't shown up at all today," Joe replied, forcing himself to speak as naturally as possible. "I told him it was fine if he wanted to drop in like usual, but so far, no sign of him."

A confused frown appeared on Biff's face, but then he realized what the hang-up must be. "Oh, I get it. He didn't want to make things awkward with Iola's new boyfriend and all."

Aleesha jabbed her elbow into his side. "Speaking of making things awkward."

"Oh. Sorry about that, Joe," Biff said. "Me and my big mouth."

"It's fine." Joe shrugged to try to cover up the fact that it wasn't really fine. He wasn't sure how he felt about Iola having a new boyfriend, but he certainly felt something about it.

Biff cleared his throat. "Um, we probably should be going to my parents' place. Don't want them to think we're not coming. Catch you later, Joe."

Joe waved absently and watched them go. That was the way his life was at the moment. It seemed like he was always watching the people he cared about go, and they didn't always come back.

HBNDHBND

 _November 24 – River Heights_

"Isn't she just the most adorable baby you've ever seen?" Bess Marvin Evans gushed as she held the four-month-old baby on her lap.

Her cousin, George Fayne, rolled her eyes old of long-standing habit whenever Bess was gushing about anything, but she also had to smile when the baby giggled at her. "She is pretty cute," she admitted.

"Pretty cute?" Bess snorted, shaking her head. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You are absolutely hopeless, George Fayne."

The young women were at the home of their best friends, Nancy and Ned Nickerson for Thanksgiving. It was the first year that Nancy had hosted a major holiday at her house, and she was finding it a little overwhelming, especially with four-month-old Marian Katherine to take care of. While she was putting the finishing touches on dinner with the help of Hannah Gruen and Edith Nickerson, her mother-in-law, she was more than happy to accept Bess's offer to babysit Marian. Ordinarily, Bess would have been thrilled to be helping with the meal, but considering that she was seven months pregnant with her own first child, the other women had shooed her out of the kitchen.

Nancy had just finished up and was coming to retrieve her daughter in time to hear Bess's last comment. She grinned and shook her head. No one who heard Bess and George talking to each other would have guessed how close they were to one another. Most of their interactions sounded like the beginning of a fight, but Nancy knew that either one of them would be the first to spring to the other's defense if the situation called for it.

"Dinner's just about ready," Nancy said, holding out her arms for Marian. Marian giggled happily as she was passed back to her mother. Nancy beamed at that thought. Before she had gotten married and even for a couple of years afterward, she had had a hard time imagining herself as a mommy, but now there was nothing she wanted to be more.

Despite all of Nancy's worrying – or maybe partly because of it – dinner went off without a hitch. The food was all delicious, and everyone ate plenty. Afterwards, Ned turned on the football game and gathered family and friends were content to either watch the game or talk. While Carson Drew, who had eagerly accepted his role as grandpa, sat on the floor to play with Marian, Nancy went to sit on the most secluded loveseat in a little alcove off the living room and rest her feet. It wasn't very many minutes before Ned found her and sat down next to her.

"Don't you want to see the game?" Nancy asked him.

Ned shrugged. "I'd rather sit here with you." He put his arm around her shoulders, and she nestled back against him.

"Well, at least things went well today," Nancy said.

"They always do with you," Ned reminded her. "You always put your all into everything, and it shows."

Nancy nodded. "It shows, all right. I must be getting old. I'm so tired all the time."

"I think that's called being a new parent," Ned told her with a grin.

Nancy gave a crooked grin, although she was too tired to chuckle. "I guess so. Getting back to work isn't helping matters either."

"If it wasn't for the fact that I know perfectly well that you'd be even more restless without a case to solve, I'd insist on you taking a longer maternity leave. I mean, what's the point of owning your own business if you can't do that much, at least?" Ned shook his head. "What am I even talking about? Even the whole time you were on maternity leave, you were trying to solve all my cases from here."

The only response Nancy gave was a smile. It was true: she never felt right if she didn't have some mystery to occupy her mind.

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a burst of cheering from the main part of the living room. Nancy and Ned craned their necks to see what the excitement was about, but rather than being focused on the game like they had expected, Carson, all the female guests, and several of the male ones were gathered around Marian, who was lying on her back on her blanket on the floor, cooing happily.

"She rolled over," Carson explained as Nancy came and sat next to him.

Nancy pulled Marian onto her lap. "That's the first time she's done that," she noted with a proud smile, but her smile faded a bit as she added, "And Ned and I missed it."

As several people tried to comfort Nancy about missing this milestone in her daughter's growth, George hung back a little. It was so weird seeing Nancy a mom and Bess getting ready to be a mom. It was bittersweet to realize that it would never really be just the three of them having adventures and being reckless again. Shaking her head, she wandered out onto Ned and Nancy's front porch, hoping to be alone for a minute, but her long-time boyfriend, Burt Eddleton, followed her.

"Aren't you having fun?" he asked.

George shrugged. "I don't know."

Burt cleared his throat. "Ned and Nancy sure have a nice place, don't they?"

George nodded. Here it came.

"Well." Burt took a deep breath. There was no point in beating around the bush. "I don't suppose you're ready yet for us to be 'old, boring married people.'"

George shook her head. "Not yet, Burt. I've told you I don't know how many times …"

"Fourteen." Burt turned away. "Well, sorry I brought it up again."

George watched him go back inside, shaking her head, but feeling strangely disappointed.

A few hours later, when it was getting dark, Vanessa Bender came up to Nancy to thank her for the invite and the meal. Vanessa had been working for Nancy and Ned for a bit over a year both as their IT and in doing background research for cases, and she had integrated easily into their circle of friends.

"You're not leaving already?" Nancy asked, genuinely disappointed.

"I'm afraid I have to," Vanessa told her. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Nancy replied. "But are you sure? It's still pretty early. Thanksgiving isn't a day to sit around by yourself."

"Well, I won't exactly be by myself." Vanessa grinned and blushed just the slightest bit. "At any rate, Tony and I were going to Skype each other tonight."

"Ah." Nancy smiled as she understood the situation. Although the distance made it difficult for them, Vanessa and Tony Prito had been dating for a couple of months now. "Well, in that case, don't let me keep you. I'll see you on Monday, right?"

"Bright and early," Vanessa replied. "Thanks again, Nancy."

Vanessa had no sooner headed for the door than Nancy's smartphone rang. The screen showed a number she didn't recognize.

When she answered it, a man's voice asked, "Is this Nancy Drew Nickerson?"

Nancy's heart beat a little faster in anticipation. There was only one sort of person who called her that: someone who had a mystery for her to solve.


	3. Chapter 2: Cases

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for continuing to read! Thank you especially to DusktoDawn21, Cherylann Rivers, EvergreenDreamweaver, Candylou, and max2013 for your reviews on chapter 1!_

 _I should have put this in the author's note for the prologue, but I forgot. Beginning with this chapter, Frank takes on a very dark case that will involve human trafficking. There will be no graphic details that will cause this story to need more than a T rating, but if you don't like this topic, this will probably be a story for you to skip._

Chapter II

Cases

 _November 25 – Rome_

Callie was already up and about by the time Frank woke up the next morning. When he came into the kitchen, he found her with her backpack already slung over her shoulder and her shoes and jacket on.

"I was starting to get worried you wouldn't even wake up before I had to leave this morning," Callie told him in a jokingly reprimanding tone.

"You're leaving a little early," Frank noted, checking his phone for the time.

Callie shrugged. "Well, I'm not hungry this morning, and besides, I want to make absolutely sure that I'm not late this morning. After taking a whole day off yesterday, my professors probably wouldn't appreciate me coming in late today. Sorry, I didn't have time to make breakfast for you." It wasn't the whole reason. Actually, as much as she hated to be away from Frank, she wanted to be out the door before he got any ideas about cooking anything for breakfast.

"That's fine," Frank assured her. "Are you sure you can't just skip out on school today?"

"I'd love to, but …" Callie paused. "It's only a few more weeks, and then we can spend as much time together as we want."

Then she kissed him good-bye and headed out to walk the short distance to the school.

Before getting his breakfast, Frank headed back to his and Callie's bedroom to grab his clothes and then shower. He hadn't gone two steps before someone began pounding frantically on his door. His first thought was that something had happened to Callie, and he practically flew to the door.

He recognized the caller was one of their neighbors, Elisa Barzetti. She was sobbing relentlessly and the minute the door was open, began speaking rapidly in Italian. Even after a year in Italy, Frank's understanding of the language was limited, and at the rate Elisa was speaking, Frank couldn't catch a word.

" _Per favore parla lentamente,"_ he asked her to speak more slowly as she paused for breath.

Elisa breathed hard for a few more seconds, and then began explaining her problem again more slowly. Frank still didn't understand most of it, but he caught enough to realize that something had happened to Elisa's eight-year-old daughter, Giada. Immediately, Frank realized that the situation must be serious, so he opened Google Translate on his phone, and using that, was able to get the rest of the message.

Giada had gone downstairs early that morning to play by herself before school, even though Elisa had told her not to. When Elisa realized that Giada had gone anyway, she had gone out to look for her. She couldn't find her anywhere and was terrified because another girl had been kidnapped not very far away a few weeks ago. She remembered that Frank was a detective and went to him for help.

Frank did his best to calm her down in his limited Italian, and then suggested that they both go search again. Maybe Elisa had just missed Giada somehow. The two scoured the neighborhood, but they couldn't find the girl. Finally, they found a man who said that he saw a girl matching Giada's description getting into a car.

At that revelation, Frank's heart sank. Unless the man was somehow mistaken, Giada had certainly been kidnapped.

HBNDHBND

 _November 24 – River Heights_

The warehouse was dark and empty. Ordinarily, at ten minutes before midnight on Black Friday, it would have been bustling with employees getting ready to retrieve the huge orders of electronics and furniture that would soon be made, but tonight there were only two people in it.

Ned hadn't liked being called out to work on a case at this hour of the night right after Thanksgiving, but Nancy had insisted. The call she had gotten earlier that evening had been from Carl McGregor, the supervising manager at one of the department stores in town. McGregor had told here that he'd been threatened by a former employee who said that he was going to use Black Friday to "destroy the store." He wanted Nancy and Ned to work as extra security to make sure nothing happened. They decided to begin by checking over the warehouse in the back of the store for any signs of trouble before the employees came back there.

"So, this former employee, Walt Carril, was fired a couple of months ago because management suspected him of stealing," Nancy was explaining as they made the sweep through.

"No charges pressed, though?" Ned asked.

"No." Nancy frowned. "It doesn't sound like there was much of an investigation made, and there wasn't evidence for them to turn over to the police. I can't say I blame Carril for being angry about being fired. Of course, that doesn't justify making threats."

"Why didn't McGregor call the police about this? If there was a threat …"

"Carril didn't make any specific threat. He just said something about wanting to 'destroy the store' on Black Friday, at least those are the words McGregor used. There's not really anything the police can do unless Carril actually tries something."

"You know, working security isn't exactly a mystery," Ned reminded her.

"And it's usually very boring," Nancy added. "Come on, it's the first time I've been in the field for months, and it will be perfectly safe."

There wasn't much Ned could argue with there. "Well, I'm just glad my parents were willing to babysit at this short notice and at this time of night."

Nancy nodded. "I'll be sure to do something for them tomorrow." She glanced at her phone. "Or later today, just about. I guess we can report all clear to McGregor." Even as she said it, some instinct told her that they had missed something.

Ned could see it on her face. "You want to make one more sweep through?" he guessed.

"Just one," Nancy said. "It'll be quick. You go ahead and tell McGregor that everything looks fine."

"Okay." Ned hesitated a moment, but then he went to give the report.

McGregor nodded tersely when Ned told him. "That's what I expected. Carril's not going to be hiding in the warehouse. He'll probably come in with the rush of customers. That's why I want you and Nancy to watch then." He checked the watch he was wearing. "Doors open in one minute. I need you and Nancy at the front of the store now."

"What do you expect Carril to do?" Ned asked. "I suppose with all the customers today, it would be a good opportunity to do some shoplifting, but that will hardly ruin your store."

"It won't help things any," McGregor insisted. "And I would still want him stopped. I half expected him to already be out there, preaching the injustice of our store to the people who are lined up to get in, or whatever. All I know is that if he's going to try something, I want someone to put a stop to it."

"Well, that's what we're here for," Ned told him. "Nancy should be here in a second."

"You go ahead and get to the door," McGregor told him. "If we can't open it exactly at midnight, we're going to have a mob on our hands as well. So, you've got about twenty-five seconds to get in position."

Ned shook his head as he made his way to one of the main entrances of the store. He really hoped this whole thing wasn't a complete waste of time.

Meanwhile, Nancy's investigation of the warehouse wasn't turning up anything that she had missed before. She wasn't sure what she suspected. After all, Carril wouldn't have been able to get into the warehouse. On the other hand, she had had a hunch all evening that this was where the excitement was going to happen.

It was only a minute until midnight, when the store was going to open for the Black Friday sales. As soon as that happened, the place would be a zoo. The sales floor would be packed with people trying to get deals, and the employees would be run ragged. If Carril turned up then, the chances were slim that anyone would even notice him. But at the same time, his opportunities for causing any harm would also be limited.

Suddenly, Nancy stiffened as one more possibility occurred to her. No, that couldn't be. Getting fired and having a cloud of suspicion over his head would be terrible, but it would hardly be a reason to do something like _that_. Surely, he wouldn't be willing to hurt innocent people over something that his former employer did to him.

Nancy bit her lip. She had been solving cases as long as most of the high-ranking officers in the River Heights Police Department. If anyone should know that counting on someone bitter enough to enact revenge to take into account innocent lives was naïve and dangerous, it was her.

Besides – a chill went up her spine as she realized – he wouldn't even be putting any innocents in danger if he had set a bomb to go off in the warehouse before the rush began. And that time was quickly running out. Nancy glanced at her phone to check the time. Fifteen seconds to midnight. Some sixth sense told her that if there was a bomb, it would be set to go off exactly at midnight.

She didn't waste another second. She sprinted toward the nearest exit. Unfortunately, she was on the second floor and she would have to barrel down a flight of stairs to get to it, and even then it was a door that set off an alarm if it wasn't opened properly. If there was no bomb, she'd have to deal with the fallout of that, and if there was, the alarm would probably be the fastest way to summon the police and fire department anyway.

She reached the stairs and began running down them. Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the building.


	4. Chapter 3: Inferno

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading and most of all to everyone who has left reviews since I posted chapter 2: Candylou, Cherylann Rivers, BMSH, amblewat, Highflyer, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, and Ritu! I really appreciate your support!_

Chapter III

Inferno

 _November 25 – Bayport_

It felt a little bit like walking around after a disaster. Everyone was exhausted and glassy-eyed, and it was only eight-thirty in the morning. The one difference was that underneath the tiredness, most people still showed glimmers of being excited or having fun or being annoyed, but none of being frightened, like they would be if a real disaster had happened.

Joe just wanted to get in Walmart, grab the few things he needed, and get out again. He wasn't usually a Black Friday shopper, but he had to admit there were a couple of video games that were just too good of a deal to pass up. He was hoping they hadn't sold out to the midnight shoppers, since there had been no possible way he was going to try to come here any earlier than this.

When he got to the video game aisle, he noticed several empty spaces where certain titles had clearly sold out. He grumbled under his breath about how he hoped he hadn't come out on Black Friday for no reason as he began scanning the display for the games he was looking for. He spotted one of them, which only had two copies left, and pounced on it. Then he began looking for the other one.

It wasn't anywhere in this section of the aisle nor was there any place that it had been and sold out, so Joe moved down to keep looking. He was too intent on his search to watch where he was going, and he and another shopper bumped into each other.

"Sorry," Joe mumbled, but then he froze as he glanced at the person and recognized him. It was Tyler Hereford, otherwise known as Iola Morton's new boyfriend.

Tyler recognized Joe also and looked like he felt equally awkward. "Uh, hi, Joe. Didn't know you were a Black Friday-type of guy."

"Not usually," Joe replied stiffly. Tyler's existence shouldn't bother him as much as it did, he told himself. "I, uh, well, the sale on video games was pretty tough to beat."

Tyler nodded. "Same. I wouldn't have come if I hadn't happened to see the ad when Io…" He stopped himself. No sense making this anymore awkward than it already was. He cleared his throat to try to cover it up.

Joe shook his head slightly. "Uh, well, I'll talk to you later."

He was starting to walk away, but Tyler spoke up and stopped him. "Speaking of talking later, that probably wouldn't be a bad idea – sometime – just so everyone's for sure on the same page about … everything."

"Yeah. We'll have to do that sometime." Joe walked away, trying to put a finger on just what he was feeling, but he couldn't. It wasn't that he was jealous, but it was something like that. He still cared about Iola, but he wasn't in love with her. He knew that much at least.

His thoughts were interrupted by his cellphone ringing. He dug in his pocket for it, noting at the same moment that he had forgotten to get a copy of the other game he had wanted. When he saw the name of the person calling, he wrinkled his brow in curiosity. He hadn't heard from him in several months.

"Hello, Father," Joe said as he answered the phone.

"Hi, Joe," Father Giovanni Beretta replied. Joe had met the priest, who was a distant relative of Tony, over a year ago while he had been working on a case in the Bronx, and Father Giovanni had helped him out of a very tight spot. "I hope I'm not interrupting if your family is still celebrating."

"Nah," Joe assured him. "What do you need?"

"A detective."

HBNDHBND

 _November 25 – Rome_

Frank double-checked that he was at the right address before he pressed the button for the doorbell. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here. All he knew was that when he went with Elisa Barzetti to speak to the police, the officer they had spoken to had told him to go talk to someone named Edmund Wight, especially if Frank was going to work on the case, and had given him the address, although the officer had refused to say anymore.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw one of the curtains in the nearest window move, as if someone had been looking out. Then, a minute later, the door opened to reveal a very business-like middle-aged man on the other side.

"Yes? Can I help you?" he asked in a British accent.

"Mr. Wight?" Frank inquired.

"That's right," the man confirmed. "And you are …?"

"Frank Hardy." Frank held out his hand, and the man shook it.

"Oh, yes," Wight said. "One of the famous Hardy Boys."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise that Wight had recognized his name so easily. "I don't know that we're all that famous."

"Teenage detectives solving everything from lost treasures to murder to cases involving international espionage? It's a miracle you aren't any more famous than you already are." Wight stepped back from the door to let Frank in. "What can I do for you?"

"I don't really know." Frank took a seat in the living room which was also the front room. "The police referred me to you because I'm investigating a kidnapping that happened this morning."

Wight's face tightened. "I see. I'm glad they did. Kidnappings are what I specialize in."

"You're a private detective?" Frank guessed.

"Yes," Wight confirmed. "I had a firm in London, but I've found my calling working on our problem here."

"Is kidnapping a very widespread problem in Rome?"

Wight's face was grim. "I know you by reputation, Mr. Hardy, and I know that you're a thorough and competent investigator. I doubt very much that you would consider giving this case to me, and I have every confidence that, if this case is connected with the other cases that I am investigating, you'll find that connection. I'll tell you plainly: you're on the edge of something big. If you don't turn around and walk out that door now and forget all about this case, you might just find yourself caught in something dangerous that you can't escape."

Frank leaned forward slightly. "If you wanted me to leave, you worded that in about the worst possible way to get me to go."

Wight cracked a small smile. "You're already in a dangerous game, Mr. Hardy, so I won't insult you by pretending you don't realize just how dangerous this really is. However, it might be the wisest course for you to give me the facts of the case and let me handle it. Unless I am misremembering, you have a new wife, a brother, parents, other assorted relatives, and a large number of very close friends. For their sakes, you might want to leave."

"You know an awful lot about me," Frank commented, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"It's my business to learn everything I can about every police officer and private detective in this city," Wight replied. "I never know when I might be obliged to trust one of them, and so it's necessary for me to know which ones I can trust. I confess your reputation intrigued me so that I remember it better than most of the others. The others I have to go back and check my files on them if I need to remember them."

"Uh-huh." Frank wasn't sure what to make of Wight. "So what exactly is so potentially dangerous about this case?"

"If you value your life, those of your family and friends, and those of the victims we are trying to help, you'll never repeat a word of this to anyone – not even your wife or brother or parents – without first asking my approval." When Frank nodded, Wight continued, "I'm part of an … organization, we'll say, for lack of a better word, whose goal is to eradicate one of the most horrendous problems facing the world today: namely, human trafficking."

"You think that's what happened to Giada?" Frank broke in. "You don't even have any of the details."

"Most likely, it's not," Wight hastened to assure him. "Most kidnappings aren't that. However, there have been a great many kidnappings in this city in the last months that have been. That's why I'm here. My organization feels that Rome is the best place at the moment to get a lead that will break some of these rings open. Now, you're probably beginning to see that I wasn't exaggerating the danger. If anything, I was understating it. You probably already know that there are a good many politicians and celebrities who are involved in this abomination."

Frank felt his stomach roil. "I've heard rumors."

"They're more than just rumors. And that's what makes this so dangerous. We're dealing with people who have power and money and everything to lose if their disgusting secrets should be revealed. If that includes killing those who pose a threat for them, they'll do it. They won't be brought to justice for that, either. The murder will be ruled a suicide or an accident or a death by natural causes and that will be that. They may also choose to retaliate or to intimidate through your loved ones, and you certainly have enough of those for that to be a very real concern. If that's not bad enough, it's all for very little. You'll probably save a few of their victims – who are very often children – but all of us together can't save them all. You might be able to put a few of these animals behind bars, or if you're lucky enough for them to put up a fight, put a few of them in the ground, but there will always be more of them. That's not even touching on what this will do to you personally. You'll lose most of your faith in humanity. That is, if you're lucky enough to hold onto any of it. You'll never be able to enjoy a moment of your life without feeling guilty. You need to consider this very carefully before you decide whether you're going to have any part of it, because once you're in, you won't be getting out."

Frank frowned at the lengthy and sobering speech, but it was clear to him what he had to do. "I can't give up Elisa Barzetti's case, even if it is dangerous. As for your mission or whatever you want to call it, I don't know. I want to help, but …"

"You'll have to think it over," Wight interjected. "I wouldn't accept your help until you had done so. Now, as for the details of the Barzetti kidnapping, if you'll tell me what you know, we can begin working on that particular case."

HBNDHBND

 _November 25 – River Heights_

"Nancy!" Ned screamed as the warehouse erupted into flame. He made a dash for the door, but Carl McGregor caught him by the arm and stopped him.

"You can't go in there," he told him hastily. He turned to several shocked employees standing. "Get everybody out of the building. I'll call the fire department."

"But Nancy's in there!" Ned protested, struggling to get free.

McGregor held him tightly. "It will only take the fire department a couple of minutes to get here."

"She might not have a couple of minutes!" With a final wrench, Ned pulled himself free and began running toward the door again.

McGregor and two male employees chased him and grabbed him again just before he could go inside the flaming warehouse.

"You don't have any equipment to go in there," McGregor told him. "You'd never find her before you were overcome by smoke inhalation or burned yourself. Then the fire department would have to rescue you, too, and in the long run, it might take longer to get Nancy out of there."

Ned didn't want to listen even to this reasonable argument, but he had to admit it was true. After a few more moments of struggling, he allowed himself to be taken outside.

The crowd out there was huge and panicked. They couldn't decide whether to press in around the burning building or to stand back, and people kept trying to push one way or another through the crowd. Everyone was talking or shouting, and between them and sound of the flames which were already shooting up high above the roof, the din was terrible.

Ned's heart quailed at the sight of the flames from out here. It seemed impossible that anyone could survive in the conflagration. He tensed himself to make another dash to get inside to look for Nancy, but the employees who were flanking him on either side were prepared for that and they held him back again.

"Look," one of the employees told him. His nametag identified him as Spencer. "There's a fire station just down the street. I can hear their sirens already. They'll be here in a second, and they'll get her out."

Ned nodded, although every second, the thought of Nancy being in the flames tore him apart. Several fire engines and police cars pulled up within a few seconds, and Spencer and the other employee, Jake, took Ned to talk to the firefighters right away.

As soon as they heard that there was someone inside, several firefighters donned face-masks and oxygen tanks and plunged into the fire. Ned felt weak watching them go and wishing that they would have let him accompany him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Officer Logan Starr of the River Heights Police Department standing behind him. Logan was one of Nancy and Ned's few friends in the RHPD as most of the officers still carried a grudge against Nancy for being so accomplished as a teenage amateur sleuth.

Logan let Ned sit down in his police cruiser and asked him a few questions about what had happened. Ned told him what he knew, though at the moment, he was much more concerned about Nancy.

"Nothing can happen to Nancy," Logan was saying, trying his best to be encouraging. "She's gotten out of dozens of situations just as dangerous as this without a scratch. Don't worry. She'll be fine."

The minutes ticked by slowly. Then Ned spotted a firefighter coming out of the inferno, carrying a person slung over his shoulder. He recognized the victim immediately as Nancy and ran toward her and the firefighter with Logan at his heels. Paramedics began working on Nancy at once.

"Second degree burns and smoke inhalation," one of the paramedics commented. "We need to get her to the hospital right away."


	5. Chapter 4: Angelo Beretta

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Most especially, thank you to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter: BMSH, Caranath, amblewat, Cherylann Rivers, Candylou, DusktoDawn21, max2013, and EvergreenDreamweaver!_

Chapter IV

Angelo Beretta

 _November 25 – River Heights_

Ned paced up and down the hospital waiting room. His mother had tried several times to get him to sit down, but being still was agony right now. At least pacing back and forth could burn off a little bit of his energy and anxiety.

His dad and Carson were there, too. Carson looked calm, but he was biting his lip and bouncing one finger up and down on his knee. In his years of being a lawyer, he had developed a calm exterior even in moments of great distress, and those were the only two signs of worry that he allowed to escape him. Hannah Gruen had wanted to come, but she was the only one left who could watch Marian. No doubt, she had her phone next to her right this moment, checking it every few minutes to make sure she hadn't somehow missed a call.

"Mr. Nickerson?" A doctor was standing in the doorway of the waiting room.

Ned hurried to her at once with his parents and Carson following him. "I'm Ned Nickerson, Nancy's husband. Is – is she all right?"

"Yes, she's doing very well," the doctor assured him. "The smoke inhalation wasn't as bad as we thought at first. She should recover from that fully, although she'll need to be careful to avoid irritating it by breathing in cigarette smoke. She may also get short of breath much more easily than she used to."

"What about the burns?" Carson asked.

"There were first and second degree burns," the doctor explained. "Fortunately, no third degree. She'll heal from them, although they will leave scars. She apparently covered her face before she lost consciousness, which prevented her from being burned there and also helped with the smoke inhalation."

Ned nodded, trying to take in everything the doctor was saying, but as soon as she stopped speaking, he asked, "Can I see her?"

"For a few minutes," the doctor told him, "and it would be best if it was just you. She's awake, but she's upset. Burns are often very difficult psychologically."

She guided Ned to one of the treatment rooms, asking him to put on a clean hospital gown, gloves, and a mask before allowing him inside. Nancy was lying on an exam table with oxygen and an IV. When she heard the door open, she turned her head to look and gave Ned a faint smile.

"Hi, honey," Ned greeted her softly as he went to her side.

"Hi." Her voice was hoarse and raspy, and she winced when she heard it.

Ned ignored it, just as he tried to ignore the bandages that were covering large portions of Nancy's body. "You really gave me a scare back there."

"Me, too." Nancy tried unsuccessfully to keep her voice from rasping. Tears came into her eyes as a wave of panic hit her. "Ned, I …"

"We don't have to talk about it now," Ned assured her. "We don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to. You're safe, and that's all that matters." He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and smiled, even though the mask covered it, of course. Internally, though, he vowed that he would see to it that the monster who had done this would pay.

HBNDHBND

 _November 25 – Bayport_

"Okay, so what's the story?" Joe was back at his apartment with a mug of coffee and his phone propped up on the coffee table in his living room while he himself sat on the floor with his back against the couch to be eye-level with it.

After Father Giovanni Beretta had told him that he was in need of a detective, Joe had asked him to wait a minute until he had gotten out of Walmart and back to someplace more private. Once he got back to his apartment and made himself some coffee, he had placed a video call to the priest, which was his favorite way to talk to potential clients long-distance.

"It's a long story," Father Giovanni explained. Joe could tell from the background that the priest was in his office at St. Vincent's Mission in the Bronx, where he worked with homeless and poverty-stricken people.

"None of your people have gotten into trouble, have they?" Joe asked, remembering from when he had stayed at the mission for a couple of days that there were several troublemakers among the regulars there.

"Yeah," Father Giovanni said, "but not from the mission. It's my nephew."

"Mario?" Joe asked. He had met Father Giovanni's nephew, Mario, as well on that same case last year. Mario, who was studying to be a priest himself, had even helped Joe a bit on that investigation.

"Well, Mario did get himself into a bit of trouble, but it's more his brother, Angelo, that I'm calling you about."

This news came as a bit of a surprise to Joe. "Neither of you ever mentioned Angelo before."

"He's not really a topic for casual conversation," Father Giovanni explained. "I'd probably better just begin at the beginning. Mario's dad was my older brother. There was fifteen years between us, even though we were the only children our parents had. Our parents died in an accident when I was sixteen, and so my brother and his wife were appointed my guardians. I lived with them until I was nineteen, and in those three years, I learned a good deal more about my brother than I wanted to.

"He was involved in some illegal dealings. Well, there's no sense putting it so delicately. His main source of income was selling drugs. I didn't realize it at first, and when I did realize it, I didn't know what to do about it. Finally, when I was nineteen, I confronted him about it. It didn't go over so well. I ended up leaving to strike out on my own, and that was the last time we ever spoke."

Joe blinked in surprise. He wouldn't have guessed that the Beretta family had quite so interesting a past.

Father Giovanni continued, "I ended up in the seminary, studying to be a priest. I tried to contact my brother several times, but he never returned any of my calls. I even wrote him a letter, but he never answered it. Six years after I last talked to him, I got a call from the police that he and my sister-in-law had been murdered."

"Whoa," Joe interrupted for the first time.

"Yeah," Father Giovanni said. "Anyway, as if that wasn't bad enough, the three kids were nowhere to be found. Angelo was twelve at the time, Mario was ten, and Belle, the youngest, was seven. The police searched everywhere. I searched everywhere. I considered leaving the seminary so that I could spend more time looking, but I was talked out of that. In the end, it was how I finally found them, or rather how they found me.

"You see, when I was being ordained a deacon, there was an article about it in the paper, and Mario spotted it. As it turns out, Angelo had convinced himself that I didn't want anything to do with them since I had left so many years earlier and they had never so much as heard from me again. Of course, that was because my brother clearly didn't tell them about my attempts to contact him. So, anyway, they had been illegally taken in by a couple who were somehow involved with my brother. Fortunately, they treated them well, although they forbade them from trying to contact the police, me, or any other relatives.

"After Mario finally contacted me, the three of them were – legally, this time – adopted by relatives on their mother's side. Mario and Belle have done very well since then, but Angelo's a different story. He got into all kinds of trouble in high school, finally dropped out and ran away from home for good just after his eighteenth birthday. Mario tracked him down, and for quite a few years, Angelo would at least talk to Mario, even though he refused to have anything to do with anyone else. Even then, he refused to meet Mario in person, because he was afraid that Mario might turn him in to the police."

"Sounds like a fun situation," Joe commented.

"Very. Well, a couple of days ago, Angelo called Mario, insisting that he needed several thousand dollars and that it was a matter of life and death. Mario didn't have that kind of money, but since this was the first time in years that Angelo was willing to meet in person, Mario decided to go and try to talk to him anyway. Of course, he didn't think to tell anyone where he was going or why. That was the night before last.

"They met in some abandoned apartment building in the inner city. Now, the other foolish thing Mario did was to take his mother's wedding ring along with him. You see, after their deaths, Mario's parents' wedding rings went to me and I've kept them safe. When Belle got engaged a few months ago, she and her fiancé decided they wanted to pick out their own rings rather than use her parents', so with no one else to claim them, Mario asked for them. See, it's a tradition that a lot of priests would have their own chalice made and have the diamond from their mother's wedding ring embedded on in it. Sometimes, they'll even melt down the gold in both parents' wedding bands and have them used to make the chalice. Mario didn't want to have them melted down, so he was just going to have the diamond put in.

"He had both rings in a safe that belonged to the relatives he grew up with, but he's already having his chalice made, even though he won't be ordained until year after next, and so he needed to take the ring in to have the diamond removed, and because the relatives with the safe were going to be away for the holiday, he got the ring from them on Wednesday, before Angelo called him. He took the ring with him because he was too paranoid to leave it behind. Somehow, Angelo found out about it, and when Mario didn't have any money to give him, he tasered him and took the ring, along with a little bit of cash that Mario had on him."

"Is Mario okay?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, he's fine. Furious, but fine."

"So, you need someone to track down Angelo and the stolen ring?"

"Right," Father Giovanni agreed. "It's more important to find Angelo. To do something like that, he must have gotten himself into some terrible trouble. Besides that, the ring isn't worth as much as he was asking for, especially not if he was going to try to pawn it off or something. He's either had to steal the rest of the money or face the consequences of not having the money. Either way, he's bound to be in a world of trouble."

"Okay."

Father Giovanni hesitated. "As for your fee …"

"Oh, don't worry about it," Joe told him. "I owe you guys one."

"Are you sure?" Father Giovanni asked. "I'm sure we could find some way …"

"No, really," Joe insisted. "It's fine. Besides, a trip to New York sounds kind of fun."

As he disconnected the call, he nodded to himself. This was just the thing to take his mind off … everything.

He had no sooner thought that than his phone rang again, with the name "Ned Nickerson" on the screen.


	6. Chapter 5: Fears

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, Cherylann Rivers, BMSH, Highflyer, max2013, Caranath, EvergreenDreamweaver, and Ritu for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter V

Fears

 _November 25 – Rome_

When Callie got home from school, she found Frank furiously typing on his laptop with a concerned frown etched onto his face. He smiled when he saw her and promptly got up to give her a hug and a kiss.

After Callie returned the kiss, she asked, "Is something wrong? I got your text that you had a new case, but that you'd tell me about it later."

Frank nodded. "It's looking like it's going to be an uglier case than just about any I've taken on. It looks like little Giada Barzetti has been kidnapped."

"That terrible." Callie felt her stomach lurch. She knew that kidnapping cases seldom turned out happily. "Have you found any clues?"

"No, not really. I have a shaky description of a suspect who's a male, dark hair, medium weight, probably not over fifty-five, and driving a silver four-door, but that's not much to go on. The witness only saw him from behind. The only other lead I have is … Well, I'm not so sure how much to trust it."

"Why? What is it?"

Frank led her to sit down next to him on the loveseat. "When I took Elisa Barzetti down to talk to the police, they told me I ought to talk to a guy named Edmund Wight if I intended to investigate this. They gave me the address, so I went to check it out after I took Elisa home. It was strange, to say the least."

"Who is this Edmund Wight?"

"He said he was a private detective who works for an organization that investigates human trafficking. Because celebrities and government officials are involved, they keep their investigations pretty quiet. Apparently, Rome is a hotbed of activity, and so he and his organization investigate every missing persons case here, especially if they involve a child, hoping to get some leads."

"That's disturbing." Callie shivered. "He thinks human traffickers took her?"

"He thinks it's possible. But that's not the weird part. I mean, yes, it's very disturbing, but Wight himself is pretty strange. He knew all about me, more than I liked. He discouraged me from continuing to investigate the case and wanted me to hand it over to him and his organization. Since I got home, I've been trying to look into him. Up until about five years ago, he worked for a reputable firm in London and doesn't seem to have anything that would raise red flags, but since then, he's dropped off the face of the map. I can't find anything about him."

"So, you think he's lying about something or hiding something?"

"I don't know what to think. I was going to call Dad to see if he knows anything about him, but it is the middle of the night there. I thought I'd probably better wait until a more reasonable time." Frank put an arm around Callie's shoulders and smiled at her. "Enough about that for the moment. How as your day?"

Callie took a deep breath, finding the sudden change in subject hard to process. "It was fine. Actually, it was good. I didn't feel so great this morning, but it wore off. Class was interesting, of course. I'm going to be sad to graduate. Is that weird?"

"Maybe just a little," Frank teased her.

Callie gave him a playfully withering glance, and then grinned. "Next week, we're going to Florence to spend a day studying at one of the museums there."

"Haven't you already taken several fieldtrips to Florence?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, but there's so many great works of art there, we can't study them all in a single trip. It's really been amazing to have the opportunity to study here."

"I wouldn't complain about it either," Frank agreed.

Callie leaned her head on his shoulder, and he rested his head against hers. They stayed like that for a long time, enjoying having each other. They both knew the investigation ahead was going to be grueling, and Frank would need Callie's help and support to get through it.

They had been like that for more than a quarter of an hour when Frank's phone began to ring. With a sigh, he absently picked it up and looked at the screen. Joe was calling.

HBNDHBND

 _November 27 – River Heights_

Nancy stared at the ceiling. She knew she was supposed to be sleeping, but she couldn't. Every time she drifted off, she dreamed she was back in the flames. She could feel them burning her. She could hear the building caving in around her. She could hear the explosion and feel herself thrown down the stairs and onto the floor.

It was better if she could just stay awake and not think about it. Or, at least, try to put the clues together and come up with a solution rather than feel like a victim again. It put some distance between it and her. The trouble was that that was all she had to think about, and she had been turning it over and over again for two days. She was no closer to an answer than she had been before, and she had no way of finding one.

She glanced at the wall on the clock. It was nearly the beginning of the visiting hour. She could only have visitors for one hour a day, and only two at a time. So far, Ned and her dad were the only ones who had seen her. Hannah, Ned's parents, Bess, Dave, George, Burt, Vanessa, and several other friends had all tried to see her, but they had had to wait outside. Ned hadn't been allowed to bring Marian either time, since the rules of the burn ward didn't allow children under the age of twelve to visit. It was tearing her up not to be able to see her, but at the same time, the determination to recover and get out of here and be with her husband and daughter again were the main things keeping her going.

The door creaked open. "Hey, Nance."

Nancy turned her head to the door, surprised by the voice. There was no mistake; Joe Hardy walked into the room next to Ned.

"How are you doing, honey?" Ned asked, planting a kiss on her forehead as well as he could through the mask he was wearing.

Nancy didn't want to lie and she didn't want to tell the truth, so she just smiled at him. Then she turned her attention to Joe. "Hi."

Joe gave her what was probably a mischievous grin, judging from his eyes, and then pulled up a chair to sit next to her bed. "I don't know what they were talking about. You don't look so bad to me."

Nancy's smile faltered. She knew Joe was teasing, but she hated thinking about how she must look, with scars everywhere. Her breath came faster, and tears sprang into her eyes.

"It's okay," Ned assured her with a pointed glare at Joe.

Nancy nodded and tried to get control over herself. She wasn't used to being this emotional, and she didn't like it. "You – You came all this way?" she asked in a hoarse whisper that grated on her own ears.

"Sure, I did." Joe's voice wasn't so teasing now. "When I told Frank, he was all but ready to come charging home from Rome. I told him he didn't have to; we'll have it all cleared up before he could even find a flight back. You ought to know by now, Nance, that any time you need us, Frank and I will be right there."

Much to her embarrassment, Nancy's eyes got misty again. "I know. It goes both ways."

"I know." Joe sighed, but he cut it off right away, as if he hadn't meant to sigh. Nancy looked at him curiously, and she noticed his old teasing expression was missing from his eyes. It was replaced by a look of deep sorrow, pain, and compassion that seemed alien to Joe's personality. All at once it dawned on Nancy that Joe understood what she was going through; he had gone through something similar, and he had survived. It helped to know that he was there and that he understood, and for the first time, she felt a little less frightened.

Then Ned caught her hand and used his free hand to brush a few strands of hair from Nancy's forehead. Nancy felt herself relax. For the moment, at least, she was safe, with Ned and Joe – her husband and her brother – next to her.

Ned and Joe stayed as long as they could, either saying nothing at all or talking about nonconsequential things like football and TV shows. They were able to keep up a façade of normalcy that helped Nancy more than anything. After an hour, however, a nurse came and asked them to leave. As soon as they were out in the hall, Ned's shoulders slumped.

"You see what she's like," he said. "She's not herself at all. It scares me."

Joe nodded. "I know." He stopped himself, not wanting to say too much. Ned had been a good friend for a long time, and he already knew most of what Joe could say right now, so there wasn't any point bringing all of that up again. He cleared his throat and shifted the subject into a different direction. "It's a good thing you called me. Nancy's going to need you here, and from what you tell me, the only leads you've got are out of town."

"Yeah. It's mostly been Vanessa and George who have tracked those down, even. I'm feeling pretty useless in this whole thing." Ned shook his head.

"You're doing the most important job in this whole thing," Joe told him. "I mean, if we catch the guy who did this, that will be great, and if we don't, it will be a disgusting injustice, but Nancy's more important. Being there for her is the best thing you can do. So, the girls and I will take care of tracking down leads. Just tell me what you've got so far."

Ned took a deep breath. Joe was right, but Ned still wished he was doing something more to make sure the villain paid for what he had done.

"Our main suspect – our only suspect, honestly – is Walt Carril, a former employee of the department store. He was fired on suspicion of stealing, and by all accounts was pretty bitter about it and had threatened the store. He doesn't seem to be at his apartment or anywhere in town. George and Vanessa have been busy trying to track down friends or relatives from outside River Heights, but they haven't found all that many. A couple in Chicago, one in New York, a handful of others in assorted towns on the East Coast. Carril is from Massachusetts originally, so he could have gone back there."

"Uh huh." Joe nodded thoughtfully, turning this over in his head. "Is there any record of Carril's threat to the store?"

"I don't know," Ned admitted. "We'd have to ask Carl McGregor, the manager. Why? Do you think McGregor was lying? Why would he do that?"

Joe shrugged. "Who knows? It's possible he made up the whole thing. It's also possible he misinterpreted the message somehow. I'd just like to know exactly what the threat was and whether there's any evidence that it really happened."

"Well, then, come on," Ned told him. "We'll head on down there to ask McGregor about it, and then we can double-check his story with what he told the police, just to make sure he's telling the truth."


	7. Chapter 6: Changes

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Caranath, Highflyer, Cherylann Rivers, max2013 (you haven't missed anything – Joe is going to help Mario, but first he's going to help Nancy), and Candylou for your reviews on the last chapter._

Chapter VI

Changes

 _November 27 – River Heights_

"Couldn't this wait until tomorrow?" Carl McGregor asked. He was standing at his front door, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe and looking like he had just woken up from a nap. "This weekend has been too much as it is. I haven't had time to sit down or sleep or eat in two days with all the insurance and answering to the higher ups."

Ned and Joe were outside his door. Joe had his arms crossed impatiently. He always hated it when people refused to cooperate this way.

"Look, Mr. McGregor," he said, "this will only take a few minutes. As for leaving it till tomorrow, every day that passes is only going to make it harder to find the arsonist."

"Terrorist is more like it," McGregor grumbled. "All right. Come on in."

Joe fought the little pang of suspicion that rose up in him at McGregor's words as he and Ned followed him inside and sat down in the front room.

"We were wondering if there was any record of Walt Carril's threat against your store," Ned explained.

"What do you mean?" McGregor looked blank.

"How was it delivered?" Ned asked. "In person, over the phone, through an email? Is there any way to read the threat for ourselves or listen to a recording of it?"

"Oh," McGregor grunted. "It was made over the phone, but it wasn't recorded."

"Can you tell us exactly what Carril said?" Joe requested.

"I already …" McGregor began, but then he shrugged. "Well, he said I'd ruined his reputation and he wouldn't be able to get another job in this town. He said I'd regret what I'd done and he would make sure I'd be in the same boat he was. Then he mumbled something about destroying the store on Black Friday and hung up."

"Are those the exact words he used?" Joe pressed.

"I … don't remember the exact words," McGregor replied. "That he would destroy the store is his exact words, though. I remember that much."

"Did he call your personal phone or a phone at the store?" Joe asked.

"At the store. He wouldn't have had my personal number."

"I suppose the phone was destroyed in the fire," Joe guessed.

"No," McGregor replied. "The damage from the fire was mostly restricted to the warehouse in back. The main floor and the offices were mostly undamaged. Why do you ask, though?"

"I was just curious as to whether it would be possible to learn exactly what number Carril called from," Joe replied. He also wanted to verify that Carril really had called, but there was no point in adding that.

"Well, no chance there," McGregor said. "Not unless you can get the phone records released to you, but you'd have to go through corporate for that. The phones in the store don't have caller ID. It helps protect our customers' privacy."

Joe nodded. So much for that idea.

"How long had Carril been working for you?" Ned spoke up.

"Eight months," McGregor replied. "We fired him two weeks ago."

"I suppose you ran a background check on him when you first hired him?" Ned questioned.

"Of course. We do one on all prospective employees."

"Did it turn up anything?" Ned asked.

"Nothing that concerned us," McGregor said. "One arrest, but it was from when he was a teenager – probably about ten years ago – and it wasn't anything too serious. Joyriding, I think."

"Do you remember where he was arrested?" Ned pressed, hoping to find some lead here.

"Not right off," McGregor admitted. "I'd assume his hometown, but I don't know for sure."

"Going back to what we were talking about earlier," Joe broke in, "but was there anyone in the room when Carril called with his threat?"

"No." A frown creased McGregor's face. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing," Joe assured him and then quickly shifted the topic. "Why did you go to Ned and Nancy rather than to the police?"

"I did call the police," McGregor insisted. "They said that since it was such a vague threat, there wasn't anything they could do. They recommended that I get extra security, so that's what I did."

Joe nodded and looked at Ned. Ned gave a small shrug of his shoulders to indicate that he didn't have any other questions, so Joe turned back to McGregor again. "Thank you very much. I think that's everything we wanted to know. We'll call you if we learn anything or have any other questions."

"Well, what do you think?" Ned asked as he and Joe walked back to his car.

"It wasn't too helpful," Joe replied. "McGregor has no evidence that this threat actually happened, so it's possible that it didn't. We don't have any way to check it out, though, so we might be stuck just keeping an eye on McGregor while we investigate Carril."

"Why would McGregor set a bomb off in his own store?"

Joe shrugged. "Who knows? This is definitely a case where looking for motives is going to be important."

"What about Carril's arrest record?"

"Doesn't mean a thing. He was a kid. I've got a more impressive arrest record than that."

Ned wasn't entirely convinced. "It's one of the few possible leads we have. Just because he was only arrested once doesn't mean that he wasn't getting into other kinds of trouble then. If we learn that he has a history of petty crimes, it would make McGregor's accusations against him more believable. I think it's worth looking into, at least."

"Then go ahead," Joe told him. "Might as well. Let's go talk to Van and George and see if they've come up with anything."

HBNDHBND

 _November 27 – Rome_

The sun was setting, casting a beautiful light over the rooftop café. It was Frank and Callie's favorite spot in the city. Frank had almost proposed there a little over a year ago but had been interrupted. Later, even though they had already been engaged, Frank had proposed there again. Ever since their marriage, they had gone there for dinner at least once a month.

Tonight, though, Callie was only picking at her food. Ordinarily, she would have thought it delicious, but tonight she could barely choke it down. Frank, too, was preoccupied, spending more time staring absently over the city spread out below them than talking.

It was only when Frank was halfway done with his own meal that he noticed Callie's lack of appetite. "Is something wrong?"

"No." There really wasn't. She had been hoping this would happen sooner than later, but now that it did, it was so overwhelming.

"What is it?" Frank asked, beginning to get concerned.

Callie took a deep breath and smiled. "I'm expecting."

"What?" It took a moment for the words to process. Then Frank jumped up, ran to her side, and wrapped her in a hug. "That's wonderful! Callie, I … I can't quite believe it."

"I know," Callie said.

Frank kissed her, and then for a long time, sat with his arm around her shoulder, talking excitedly about their child. In his absolute joy at learning that he was soon to be a father, everything else that had been preoccupying him – Giada Barzetti, Edmund Wight, Nancy's injuries – all faded away for a few moments, but it was only for a few moments.

Callie had discovered her good fortune a few hours earlier and had had a little more time to process it. Naturally, she was thrilled, but it hadn't been long before worries had begun to set in. Even now, tears welled in her eyes and she trembled as Frank held her.

"Callie, what's wrong?" Frank asked, noticing immediately.

"Nothing," Callie lied, but then she added, "I don't know."

"Aren't you happy?" Frank couldn't quite understand.

"Yes," Callie assured him promptly. "I am, but I'm also scared."

Frank paused. He hadn't really considered that reaction. He pulled her closer. "What are you scared of?"

"Everything," Callie admitted, the tears in her eyes escaping. "I can't stop thinking about that case you're working on and poor little Giada and what the Barzettis must be going through."

Frank felt a lump form in his throat. "I'll never let anything like that happen to our child."

"But can you help it?"

The unexpected question stung Frank, and he pulled away from her. He and Callie stared at one another in the fading light for a moment.

"What do you mean?" he asked finally. "Of course, I can. I'm a detective."

"That's just the point," Callie replied. "You're a detective. You run so much danger and you have so many enemies. Enemies who try to hurt you any way they can."

Frank swallowed hard. "Callie, I won't let them …"

"But how can you stop them?" Callie insisted. "Look at what happened to Joe and Iola. Look at what just happened to Nancy. And for what?"

"Callie, I …" Frank hesitated. "You've never had a problem with my work before."

"It's different now." A sob escaped Callie. "I didn't think I'd ever feel this way, but now … This changes everything. I can't lose you. It's always been my worst fear. And now we have a baby to think about. And this case … If it's really as dangerous as that Edmund Wight says it is, you can't take it."

Frank ran a hand through his hair as he tried to think what to say or do. "I can't do that. I can't just stop solving mysteries. It's who I am."

"Is it? Is it really all you are? You're so brilliant and talented, Frank. You could be and do anything you want. Why do you have to do something so dangerous, something that's going to put you and me and our baby in danger?"

Frank closed his eyes and didn't answer right away. He had to find exactly the right words. "It's because of our baby," he said finally, "and because of Giada and what happened to Joe and Iola and Nancy. I can't just stand by and let people – especially people I love – get hurt. I have to do something to protect them. If it wasn't being a detective, it would be something else. Fighting fires or joining the military or something. I want to make the world safer and better for you and for them, and I can't do that without taking risks."

"You can't do that at all." Callie put her face in her hands. "You can't save everyone, Frank."

"But I can save some of them. I can make the world a little safer, at least."

"For other people, maybe," Callie admitted. "But not for you or me or our baby. You're only making things more dangerous for us."

Frank looked around him helplessly. The whole scene was attracting the attention of the other people in the café, and their stares only made things worse. He couldn't believe this conversation was happening. He also couldn't believe that what should have been one of the most beautiful moments in his life – the moment he found out he was going to be a father – was turning into one of the most horrible. He didn't know what to do.

"Callie," he said finally, putting his arms around her again, "let's go home. We can talk about this tomorrow, when we're both not so upset. It'll … It will all make more sense in the morning."

Callie returned his embrace. "I'm sorry, Frank. I'm just so scared."

Frank stroked her golden hair. "You have every right to be. We'll figure this out in the morning."

He paid the check, and they left the café. They had just reached the street when a text came through on Frank's phone. He glanced at it absently and read:

 _I've just gotten a tip on your case. Call me back. E. Wight_

With a sigh half of annoyance and half of resignation, he typed out a reply:

 _I can't deal with it now. It will have to wait._

Right now, he had far too much to worry about.


	8. Chapter 7: Disturbing Revelations

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story, and especially if you have left a review. Thank you to amblewat, max2013, Candylou, Highflyer, EvergreenDreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, Caranath, and Ritu for your reviews on the last chapter! Just as a heads-up, Frank's case does take a turn for the darker in this chapter, so be aware._

Chapter VII

Disturbing Revelations

 _November 27 – River Heights_

Joe glanced at the cars in Ned and Nancy's driveway and raised an eyebrow at the number of them. "Looks like you've got a lot of company."

"Just George and Vanessa and my parents," Ned replied. "You know, Nancy and I don't actually have an office. We just work out of our house, so naturally it's the center of operations on this case."

He opened the door, and Joe followed him into the comfortable and stylish house. The first thing he saw, in stark contrast to the tasteful furnishings, was George sitting upside down on a chair, somehow still managing to hold her laptop on her knees. The second thing was Vanessa Bender sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, which she had set her laptop on. Both young women looked up when they heard the door open.

"Oh, hey, Joe," George said, letting her short, dark hair fall over the front of the chair.

"Hi." Vanessa smiled at them, and Joe felt his heart flutter just a little. He had had quite a crush on her ever since he had met her a year ago, but since she was dating Tony, one of Joe's best friends, he didn't have any intention of pursuing his crush.

"How's Nancy?" George asked.

"About the same," Ned told her with a small sigh. "Where's Marian and Mom and Dad?"

"In the TV room," George replied. "They didn't want to bother us."

Joe followed Ned into the other room, where they met the Nickersons who had volunteered to watch Marian while Ned picked up Joe from the airport and went to visit Nancy. A little of Ned's worry disappeared from his face as he smiled at his daughter and picked her up. She reached out her arms to him happily, but then she stared at Joe with wide, uncertain eyes.

"Aw, man, she's really grown," Joe commented, and then instantly shook his head. "Okay, I know I always said I wouldn't be one of those adults who are always saying that every time they see a kid."

Ned chuckled. "Besides, I would hope she's grown. She's four months old now, and last time you saw her, she was only about two weeks."

After talking to Ned's parents for a few minutes, Joe left the Nickersons and went to talk to George and Vanessa about the case. Neither of them had moved, and so he sat down on the loveseat that the coffee table was standing in front of.

"It's a sad day when I'm the only one who knows how to use furniture right," he commented teasingly.

To his surprise, Vanessa blushed a little and climbed back up onto a chair. George, however, only snorted.

"There is no right way to use furniture," she argued. "Do whatever you want with it. Besides, I think better like this."

Joe shrugged and frowned just a little. He had never admitted it to anyone but Frank, but George was one of the few people he didn't like all that well. She wasn't that bad when Nancy was around to keep her in line, but without Nancy there, working with her might be a bit of a trial.

"I guess Ned already told you what little we know about this case," Vanessa spoke up.

"Right," Joe confirmed, "unless you've learned anything since you talked to him last."

Vanessa shook her head. "Nope. We've mostly been looking through Carril's social media accounts, but nothing. He's pretty private online."

"Figures that one of the few people that it would be really handy for him to post every detail of his life is the sort that only shares a meme every now and again," George commented in disgust. "Too bad he doesn't have any enemies who doxed him at some point."

"That would make things pretty easy," Joe agreed, "but we'll have to figure it out without that."

George and Vanessa continued their online research, while Joe began a preliminary check into Carl McGregor's background. They had been working for close to half an hour when Joe's phone rang, with Mario Beretta's name appearing on the screen. Joe answered it right away.

"Hi, Joe," Mario greeted him. "How's your friend? Father Giovanni told me that you were going to investigate that first, before you tackled our little problem."

"Um, yeah," Joe replied. "I hope you don't mind. It's just …"

"No, I get it. She's the same one that helped you out of all that trouble last year, isn't she? She must be quite the friend."

"She is," Joe affirmed. "So, anyway, it'll be a few days before I can really focus on looking for Angelo. If you want to call in someone else, I understand."

"Oh, no, not at all," Mario replied. "Don't worry about anything like that. As a matter of fact, I've been doing some investigating of my own."

Joe smirked amusedly. He knew Mario thought of himself as a bit of an amateur detective, and he couldn't deny that he had shown some talent for it. "Okay. What did you find?"

"My mother's wedding ring in a pawn shop," Mario told him. "I, uh, managed to get the phone number and address that Angelo had given when he sold it. I haven't checked them out yet, so I don't know if they're legit."

"All right. If you go to the address, don't go inside. Try to stay outside and watch to see if Angelo's there. And don't go alone, either. Take somebody with you. Let me know if you learn anything."

"Will do."

HBNDHBND

 _November 28 – Rome_

Frank was heavy-hearted as he climbed the stairs to the door of Edmund Wight's flat and pressed the doorbell. He had tried to reason with Callie the night before about her fears, but they hadn't gotten anywhere. They had finally agreed to let the matter drop for the time being, although neither of them was really satisfied with that. The morning had been disturbingly quiet, and then Callie had gone to class. Frank had spent several hours pacing around restlessly, trying to think what to do. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore, so he had decided to try to think about something else. That's when he had remembered Wight's text from the night before and realized that he had better check into it. He thought that he should go in person rather than call since he still didn't quite trust Wight and he would be better able to tell whether he was hiding anything face to face.

When Wight answered the doorbell, he looked downcast. "Oh, Mr. Hardy. I figured I'd hear from you today."

"Sorry I didn't get back to you last night," Frank apologized as the man let him inside. "I had a personal matter I was dealing with."

"Well, it doesn't make much difference, anyway," Wight told him. "The tip I had turned out to not be related to your case, after all."

"You checked it out yourself?" Frank asked.

"It couldn't wait." Wight's frown deepened even more, and he abruptly tried to change the subject. "I've made no progress in the Barzetti case. Have you?"

"No." Frank wrinkled his forehead in curiosity. "What was that tip, anyway?"

Wight sighed. "It was a report of a girl matching Giada Barzetti's description being spotted in a flat in one of the worse parts of the city. I figured if it was her, she needed to be gotten out of there as quickly as possible."

"But it wasn't her?"

"No, fortunately."

"What do you mean by that?" An apprehensive feeling surged up in Frank.

Wight didn't answer for a minute or two, but then he gave in. "The girl had been kidnapped a couple of weeks ago. Somehow, someone tipped off the suspect that we were coming." His voice broke. "She was dead by the time we got there."

Frank felt sick. "You mean, I …"

"You didn't do anything," Wight interrupted.

"That's the point," Frank said. "I didn't do anything. Would it have made any difference if I had been there?"

"I doubt it," Wight assured him. "The fault is nobody's but the animal who did this and the traitor who tipped him off. And believe me, I'll catch both of them."

Frank sank slowly into a chair, his face contorting as he tried to hold back tears. This was too much – one blow too many all at once. The last thing he needed, though, was to fall apart in front of a stranger, especially one he was suspicious of. Immediately, he stood again and squared his shoulders. "I have to go. Let me know if you learn anything at all about Giada."

"I will," Wight assured him. "I hope whatever your personal matter is, it gets resolved soon."

Frank nodded as he headed out the door. "So do I." _So do I,_ he repeated silently to himself.

HBNDHBND

 _November 28 – River Heights_

Ned wiped his eyes and took another drink of coffee. It was late: about one in the morning. George, Vanessa, and Ned's parents had long-since gone home, and even Joe was sleeping up in the guest bedroom. The Nickersons had offered to spend the night to help keep an eye on Marian, but Ned had assured them he could handle it by himself. Marian wasn't a very fussy baby, and she had gotten tired out enough earlier in the day that she had slept well so far tonight. Ned, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. Not while he was making so little progress on finding the person who had nearly killed his wife.

Even though Joe hadn't thought much of Walt Carril's scanty arrest record and had discounted any possibility of finding a lead there, Ned had decided to check it out. It had taken him several hours, but he had finally accessed the documents he was looking for online. True to what McGregor had said, the arrest had been for joyriding in a friend's parents' car when Carril had been fifteen, nine years earlier. Ned was about to give up in disgust when he noticed the list of other teenagers who had been arrested along with him. Ned froze as he noticed one name in particular that stood out like a beacon on a clear night: Terence Shanth.


	9. Chapter 8: Conundrums

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to everyone who has taken the time to review the last chapter: max2013, Highflyer, Candylou, Cherylann Rivers, Caranath, BMSH, and Ritu! I really love reading your thoughts and opinions on the story. I think it's great that you all have opinions about the Frank and Callie situation. They're all valid opinions, so please try to be respectful to each other in your reviews. If what's happening in this story is upsetting to you, I apologize. Please don't feel obligated to keep reading it if that's the case. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun!_

Chapter VIII

Conundrums

 _November 28 – River Heights_

Ned was already finishing breakfast by the time Joe came downstairs in the morning. Joe glanced at him curiously.

"I was going to tell you there wasn't any need in waiting breakfast for me," Joe commented.

"Sorry," Ned replied. "I figured you were tired from flying out here yesterday, so I was going to let you sleep however long you wanted. I'm going to leave in a couple minutes. I'll drop Marian off with my parents, and then I've got some errands to run, and then I'll go see Nancy. I'll catch up with you afterwards. If you need to go anywhere, you can use Nancy's car."

"That's very generous of you to loan out your wife's car," Joe teased him. "But thanks. Are George and Van going to come over here again today?"

"Van probably is, but who knows about George?" Ned told him. "George probably doesn't even know."

Joe grabbed a bowl out of the cupboard and poured some cereal into it. "Okay. I'll talk to you later."

After Ned left, Joe sat slowly eating his bowl of cereal for several minutes. He wasn't quite sure where to go next on this case. One thing he wanted to do was try to find out if there were any other suspects beside Carril and McGregor. There were plenty of people crazy enough to try to sabotage a department store on Black Friday, and if they knew about Carril's threat against the store, they might see him as an easy target. The problem was trying to find out who else knew about the threat.

Joe was still mulling this over when his phone rang. Mario Beretta was calling, which Joe had been half-expecting after the developments yesterday. What he wasn't expecting was for Mario to be seething when he answered.

"He was there," Mario said abruptly. "I saw him. And he saw me. And you know what he did?"  
"Angelo?" Joe asked, guessing that Mario must be talking about his brother, even though he wasn't being particularly clear. "You didn't go inside alone, did you? I told you not to."

"No, I didn't go inside. I saw him in the parking lot of the apartment building."

"And?"

"And when he saw me, he tried to back into me with his car." Mario let out a frustrated, angry groan. "Can you believe it? He was actually trying to kill me. Oh, when I get my hands on him … I know, I know, forgive your enemies and everything, but we're also supposed to admonish the sinner, and Angelo could certainly use some admonishing at the moment."

"Clearly," Joe replied, struggling to keep from grinning at the odd use of theology despite the serious situation. "Look, did you get the license number of his car?"

"Of course, I did," Mario affirmed. "I wouldn't have goofed that bad. I don't know how he got a car, though. He made it sound like he was destitute. Besides, he owes somebody a ton of money."

"Maybe the bank for a car loan," Joe joked.

Mario pretended to laugh. "Hilarious. Do you have any good suggestions?"

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Joe countered.

"Not for another half hour."

"Well, you'd better be getting over there, then. If Angelo knows that you know where he's been living, he'll probably clear out of there. I'll try to get over there as soon as I can." Joe suddenly remembered that Ned had mentioned Carril had a possible connection in New York. He wasn't getting much accomplished in River Heights; maybe he ought to head back east and work on both cases at once. "I might be able to come in the next day or so. I'll let you know."

"Okay." Mario sighed. "Don't take too long."

HBNDHBND

 _November 28 – Rome_

Callie shivered. It never did get as cold in Rome as it did back in Bayport, but it was cold enough today. It didn't help matters that she was feeling sick, both physically and emotionally. It was almost noon, and she had just written emails to her professors for her last two classes of the day, telling them she wasn't feeling well enough to come. The she plopped down on a bench in the most secluded corner of campus she could find, too tired and sick and miserable to bother going home right now, and put a hand on her belly.

All at the same time, she felt a thrill knowing that there was a life – her and Frank's son or daughter – growing within her, fear for what the future would bring, and shame for how she had reacted to it. Frank was bound to be furious with her, and he had every right to be. It brought tears to her eyes thinking about it. Why couldn't she have just given her fears more reasonably?

Finally, she picked up her phone and called Iola. She needed to talk to somebody who would understand.

Iola's voice was sleepy when she answered. "Callie? You do realize it's not even six in the morning here yet."

"Sorry," Callie apologized, biting her lip. Why didn't she ever think things out? "I didn't even think of it. We can talk later, if you'd rather."

"Oh, well, I'm awake now anyway." The end of the last word was lost in a yawn. "What is it, Cal? You haven't called for a couple of weeks now."

"I know." Callie furiously wiped tears from her eyes. "I just need to talk."

"Did something happen?" Iola asked, sounding more awake and concerned now.  
"Yeah. Frank and I had a fight, and I don't know what to do."

Iola was tempted to comment that she didn't think Callie and Frank had fights, but she bit her tongue. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Callie took in a breath, and then began, "I've … got a lot going on right now, and then on top of everything, Frank took on a kidnapping case that sounds really dangerous. I'm worried about him."

"So, is that what you fought over?" Iola asked. "Did you want Frank to give up that case?"

"Yes, I still do. It's not worth it. I just want to go home and get out of this city."

"I thought you loved it there."

"I do … I did." Callie's tears were flowing faster now, and she let out a strangled sob. "But Frank told me that there have been a lot of kidnapping here in the last months. One of them – the one he's working on – lives in the same building as us. He says that it's mostly been kids that have been getting kidnapped, and now that …" She stopped herself. She was sounding pathetic enough without basically saying that she was pregnant and scared and wanted her husband to change his entire life because of it.

"Okay." Living in the midst of a nest of kidnappers was certainly a reasonable cause to be afraid, Iola acknowledged. "So, what exactly did you say to him?"

"I don't remember," Callie admitted. "I was so upset. I told him I wanted him to stop solving mysteries because something might happen to him or … me."

Iola frowned. That was bound to have not gone over so well. "What did he say?"

"He said he couldn't just sit by and let terrible things happen to innocent people. He's right, I guess. I don't know. I feel like I'm a terrible person."

"You wouldn't know how to be a terrible person, Cal," Iola assured her. "And it doesn't sound like either of you were wrong. Frank does have talents that he can use to help people that he shouldn't waste, but I don't blame you for being afraid. The two of you do run a risk of something happening."

"Like it did to you because of Joe."

Iola caught her breath and answered in a harsher tone than she meant to use. "That was not Joe's fault. There wasn't anything he could have done to stop it, and if he hadn't been there, I would have died."

Iola's harsh tone wounded Callie, and she said defensively, "If Joe hadn't been there, you wouldn't have been … hurt."

 _Stay calm,_ Iola told herself, trying to get the edge out of her voice. "There are a lot of people who have been shot without even having heard of the Hardys."

"But you wouldn't have been. Not in that case," Callie insisted. "And what was it even for, anyway? It was just senseless revenge."

"That's right," Iola agreed. Talking about this wasn't easy, but she steeled her nerves anyway. She realized that, even though Callie was her best friend, they had never really talked this over. It was high time they did, especially if it was causing trouble between Callie and Frank. "You're right. It was senseless, but that doesn't mean I haven't made sense of it. If it hadn't been me, it would have been somebody else, and maybe they wouldn't have survived."

She let out a long breath and continued. "Look, Terry Shanth's father was a criminal and a murderer. Terry is insane. If Fenton Hardy hadn't shot Terry's father, someone else would have. Some other police officer, probably, who also had a family. Then it would be them that Terry would have been after instead of the Hardys. And maybe he would have succeeded then. Maybe whoever he would have targeted wouldn't have known how to deal with it."

"But it still tore you and Joe apart," Callie pointed out.

"No. Well, maybe. Okay, actually, yes. But that was a good thing. If someone else could have torn us apart, then we were never strong enough to stay together."

"Don't you regret it?" Callie asked.

"Sometimes. Well, it's not exactly regret, just sort of wistfully thinking about how it might have been. The thing is, it wouldn't have ever been that way. Even without everything that's happened, it wouldn't have worked.

"And why not? You loved each other. Wasn't that enough?"

Iola paused. "It could have been, I guess. But the thing is, Joe is Joe and I'm me. Joe's always up for the next adventure and is fearless and wild and selfless and just a little bit crazy and will never be happy as long as he's sitting around in Bayport. Me, on the other hand, I like my adventures to be more like going to Disneyland or staying on the beach for a week or so. I like having a schedule and knowing what I'm doing and where I'm going, and honestly, the less I have to go, the better I like it. I'm a farmgirl through and through. If I could spend the rest of my life on a farm taking care of cows and chickens and pigs, I'd be totally happy. Yes, we love each other, and so we had to grow up and realize that we had to do what was best of each other, which in our case was going our separate ways."

A sickening fear clawed at Callie's heart. "But how did you fall out of love?"

"I don't know," Iola admitted. "But you didn't call to talk about Joe and me. You called to talk about you and Frank."

"Iola, if you and Joe could fall out of love, do you think …"

"No," Iola interrupted before Callie could finish the question. "At least, if you think Frank's going to stop loving you just because of one fight, that's not even possible. I'll bet you anything that Frank's brainstorming job ideas right now, because if you want him to give up detective work, he'll do it."

"He didn't sound like it last night."

"You went for … I don't even know how long without having a problem with Frank being a detective, and then one day, you say you have a problem with it. He was probably a little bit surprised. Anyway, you'd better get home and tell him you've changed your mind before he starts sending in applications."

"Would it be so bad?" Callie asked quietly.

"Yes, it would," Iola told her promptly. "Tell me right now: if you had the choice between living for one day with Frank or living a normal lifespan without him, which would you pick?"

"That's a really silly question," Callie protested.

"It's the question you have to answer now," Iola told her. "If you ask Frank to stop solving mysteries, he will, but he won't be Frank anymore. Being a detective isn't just his job; it's a part of who he is."

"What about me?" Callie asked. "Doesn't it matter what I can handle?"

"Of course. You'll have to … not compromise. Then neither of you will be happy. You'll have to find an answer that you're both happy with. Maybe coming home and Frank working with his dad and Joe again is the answer. He won't be in as much danger then, and he'll still be doing what he loves."

"Maybe."

"And, Callie," Iola added, "don't forget that you said yourself that you've got a lot going on right now. When things calm down again, you'll feel different about it again. Don't think that how you feel right now is how you're always going to feel."

Callie sighed. "I guess you're probably right. Thanks. I'll try to calm down and then Frank and I can have a reasonable conversation about."

"Sounds like a good plan," Iola told her. "If you need anything, just call."

Callie pressed the button to disconnect the call. Calming her fears was going to be a lot easier said than done.

HBNDHBND

 _November 28 – River Heights_

George whistled as Ned told her about his latest discovery. After he had taken Marian to his parents' house, he had stopped at George's apartment to give her the update.

"Terry Shanth, again, huh?" She shook her head. "This is starting to get ridiculous. First, he goes after the Hardys for revenge, and then Nancy her dad, and then all of them, and then his girlfriend's cousin or whatever comes for revenge, and now some buddy of Terry's? This is starting to sound a bad soap opera where they can't think of a new storyline to save their lives."

"I guess it's not definite that the explosion had anything to do with Terry," Ned admitted, "but it sounds like way too big of a coincidence to me."

"It's never a coincidence," George said. "Have you told Joe yet?"

"No, and I'm not going to," Ned told her firmly.

George stared at him. "What? Why not?"

"You don't know everything…" Ned began.

"Well, I knew that," George cut him off. "Don't you think Joe needs to know this? If Shanth's got a buddy going for revenge, he's going to be after the Hardys just as much as Nancy."

"You know that Terry shot Joe, don't you?" Ned asked. "He tried to kill him several times, and it's been rough for Joe dealing with it. If he finds out that this whole thing might be rearing up again, it's not going to be good."

"So, we just don't tell him, sweep it under the rug, and hope he doesn't find out about it, even though he is one of the best detectives ever and he's working on the case?" George shook her head. "I think he'd better know."

"What he needs is to get off the case," Ned replied. "If I had known, I wouldn't have called him in. George, you've got to understand what this would do to Joe if he knew."

"Well, I understand what it could do to him if he doesn't know," George insisted. "Detective work isn't a case where what you don't can't hurt you."


	10. Chapter 9: Decisions

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you all so much for continuing to read this story, especially to all of you who have left reviews on the last couple chapters! I know a few of you missed the last chapter when I first posted it, so if you haven't read chapter 8 yet, be sure to read it before you read this one._

Chapter IX

Decisions

 _November 28 – River Heights_

The flames were all around her. She could feel them burning her skin as she tried to get up, but something was holding her down. A fiery hand stretched toward her, drawing its flaming fingers across her face. She screamed and jumped.

Nancy's eyes flew open, and she sat halfway up, breathing hard. There was no smoke or flames, and she blinked in surprise. She reached up to feel her face, half-expecting to feel the ugly burns that the hand must have left, but they weren't there.

"It's all right, Nancy," a nurse was telling her soothingly. "It was only a dream."

Nancy took in a deep breath. Of course, it was only a dream. Still … "Could I have a mirror, please?"

"Why?" the nurse asked in surprise.

"I just want to see myself in the mirror," Nancy insisted. Her heart was still hammering. She knew it had just been a dream, but she wanted to make sure.

"Well, all right. Just a moment." The nurse left the room to fetch the mirror.

While she was gone, Nancy focused on breathing. She needed to calm down. This was ridiculous. She couldn't get this upset every time she had a nightmare. If only Ned or her dad or Hannah or one of her friends had been there when she had woken up, it wouldn't be so bad, but Ned had already made his visit for the day, and Nancy knew she wouldn't be allowed to see him or anyone else until tomorrow. How long the days dragged by in a hospital bed!

The nurse returned in a few minutes with a small, handheld mirror. Nancy took it from her eagerly and looked at her own face in the glass. Her blue eyes were dull, red-rimmed, and still a little bloodshot from the smoke. Her red-blonde hair was mussed from sleeping. Her face itself was pale and drawn, but apart from a few miniscule marks from where hot ashes had landed, there were no burns. She breathed a deep sigh of relief.

However, as she handed back the mirror to the nurse, she glanced at the bandages on her arms and torso. The scars there were sure to be horrendous. How quickly everything had changed.

HBNDHBND

 _November 28 – River Heights_

"I talked to the police earlier," Vanessa was explaining to Joe shortly after she had arrived at the Nickersons' house that morning. "They told me that Carril's car was spotted near Pittsburgh late yesterday. He must be …"

She was cut off by the door opening abruptly and George coming in.

"Joe," she said, unceremoniously breaking into the conversation, "I've got something I've got to tell you."

Joe fought back his annoyance at George's interruption. "Can it wait a minute? Van was just telling me something important."

"No," George replied. "This is big, really big."

"Van was trying to tell me that Carril's in Pennsylvania," Joe told her. "I'd say that was pretty big."

"Well, okay, maybe," George conceded. "But this is even bigger. Walt Carril is a friend of Terry Shanth."

All the color drained out of Joe's face at the unexpected revelation, and he reached out for the back of a chair to steady himself. A cold feeling gripped him, and his head swam. For a moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Vanessa glanced curiously from Joe to George, puzzled by Joe's strange reaction. "I don't get it," she ventured to say. "Who's Terry Shanth?"

"Oh, some creepy lunatic that Nancy and the Hardys have tangled with before," George replied, although she, too, was surprised by Joe's apparent fear. "Thanks to them, he's rotting in jail in New York for life, so it would make sense if a buddy of his is out for revenge."

Joe was clasping his right arm with his opposite hand as if it hurt him and was taking deep breaths. He could hear the echo of a mocking voice in his head and felt like hands made out of darkness were reaching for him, trying to pull him in. _Not now. Not now,_ he told himself.

"Joe, are you okay?" Vanessa asked him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Joe jumped at the touch and stumbled a couple steps backward. The two young women stared at him in surprise and concern. Then his head began to clear, and he looked up at them.

"Are you sure?" was all he managed to gasp.

"Well, Ned was the one who found it out, but I don't think there could be any mistake." George cocked her head in confusion. "He told me not to tell you. Should I not have?"

"No. I mean, yes." Joe closed his eyes, trying desperately to get a grip on himself. "Just give me a minute. This is a lot to deal with."

"Does this get us anywhere?" Vanessa asked, still staring at Joe even though she expected George was more likely to answer her question.

"It gives us a motive," George said. "If Carril knew that Nancy was going to be in that warehouse …"

"But how would have he known that?" Vanessa pointed out. "He couldn't have known Carl McGregor would call in Nancy and Ned. Besides that, he already had a motive. He was bitter about being fired and accused of stealing."

"Well, then, he must have just figured he'd kill two birds with one stone." George shrugged.

"It still doesn't explain how he would have known that Nancy was going to be in there," Vanessa insisted. "It doesn't make sense."

"Revenge isn't supposed to make sense," George argued. "All that matters is that we have a suspect with a double motive. He's got to be our guy. All we've got to do now is catch him."

Vanessa still wasn't convinced, but she could see there was no use arguing with George about it. "As I was trying to tell Joe, Carril's car was spotted near Pittsburgh yesterday. He's probably headed to lay low with one of his friends back east."

"Too bad we don't know which one." George crossed her arms. "We can at least narrow down the options if we look up which ones live in places where you'd go through Pittsburgh. And we can definitely rule out the Chicago ones."

"That's still a lot of people spread out over a big area," Vanessa reminded her. "It will take a long time and a lot of money. And then, on top of that, if we go to the wrong one, they just might warn the right one, and then what would we do?"

"We'll just have to be careful, I guess," George said. "It's not like you can just do a Google search for 'which friends is Walt Carril hiding with.'"

Joe shivered, but he was starting to pull himself together now. Of all the criminals he had helped to track down in his career as a detective, none had shaken him as badly as Terry Shanth. The idea that he was back – or, at least, that a friend of his was trying to complete his program of revenge – was sickening. Now that the first shock was over, though, Joe murmured a prayer for strength and steeled himself. It was time to put this chapter of his life behind him, once and for all.

"There's only one way we can find Carril and find out if Terry Shanth is really his motive behind this," he said, his mouth dry. Every bit of him protested at what he was about to say next, and it took all his will to get the words out. "I have to go talk to Shanth."

HBNDHBND

 _November 28 – Rome_

Frank kicked a stone out of his path into the pond that ran alongside the walking trail. Ever since he had talked to Edmund Wight, he had been wandering around this park, trying to think through the unthinkable position he was in.

There was a little girl somewhere, scared and alone and not knowing if she would ever see her parents again. And that was the best-case scenario. For all Frank knew, Giada might be dead already. There was another little girl who was dead who had been in a similar situation to Giada, and Frank had done nothing to help her. Wight had assured him that there was nothing he could have done to change things and he was probably right, but Frank could never be sure. Even if he could be sure, maybe the nausea he felt every time he thought about it would lessen if he had at least done everything he could.

On the other hand, he couldn't have left Callie just then. He had an unspoken promise to help whatever innocents he met who needed, but he had made a vow to Callie to always be there for her when she needed him, for better or worse.

"For better or worse," he murmured.

This was certainly worse. He wasn't worried about Callie leaving him. He knew that her love for him was as unshakeable as his love for her, as she had proven countless times over the last decade. He also knew that her hormones were making her more emotional and worried than she ordinarily would be. More than that, he knew she would forgive him if he refused to give up detective work.

But, even if he knew all that, he wasn't fooling himself. It wouldn't be fair to test Callie's love that way. He couldn't hurt her just because he knew she would forgive him for it afterward. Not only that, Callie certainly didn't need anything more to worry about at the moment. Her finals were coming up, and she was stressing about them, and she was far from home, and Frank knew she was a little bit homesick, no matter how much she denied it. For her sake and for their baby's, Frank needed to relieve whatever worries he could for her. What his decision needed was clear.

Then he thought of Giada again, and uncertainty washed away his determination. Someone had to find that little girl, and he knew he had to try. He could picture her in the hands of some cruel and inhuman captor. He could hear her crying.

Frank froze. It wasn't his imagination. There was a child crying somewhere nearby. Then, suddenly, the child screamed. Frank needed no other prompting. Without a second's hesitation, he went barreling in the direction of the sounds.

A moment, he spotted a man holding a struggling girl under one arm trying to muffle her screams and cries with his free hand as he dragged toward a nearby parked car.

"Let her go!" Frank shouted.

The man glanced over his shoulder and saw Frank charging toward him full tilt. His face paled, and he threw the crying child to the ground. Then made a dash for his car. Frank was on his heels. The would-be kidnapper slammed the door just before Frank reached him. Unthinkingly, Frank grabbed the handle just as the man threw his car, which he had left running, into gear and pressed the accelerator.


	11. Chapter 10: In Over His Head

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, Cherylann Rivers, max2013, Highflyer, EvergreenDreamweaver, Caranath, and BMSH for your reviews since I posted the last chapter!_

Chapter X

In Over His Head

 _November 28 – Rome_

The door handle was ripped from Frank's hand almost as soon as he had gripped it, and he was yanked headlong as the car roared off. Fortunately, he didn't fall beneath the tires, and the only wear and tear he received was a painful shoulder and a few scrapes on his palms and knees, as well as a long hole ripped in one pantleg. Instantly, his attention went back to the child whom he had just rescued, and he turned to check on her.

She hadn't run away and was sitting on the ground, crying. She couldn't have been more than three years old. Frank approached her cautiously, not wanting to frighten her.

" _Non aver paura,_ " he told her softly, hoping she would understand his undoubtedly thickly accented Italian as he told her not to be afraid.

She eyed him uncertainly, but finally she got up and toddled toward him. She didn't seem to be hurt in any way, and Frank breathed a sigh of relief.

" _Dove sono i tuoi parenti?_ " he asked her slowly where her parents were, having to think about the words and not entirely sure he got them right.

" _No lo so,_ " she whimpered in reply, which Frank understood to mean that she didn't know.

Frank comforted her as well as he could and learned that her name was Lisa, although she either didn't know her last name or wouldn't tell him. She still denied knowing where her parents are and she couldn't tell Frank their names. He called the police, and they arrived a few minutes later. None of them spoke English, and Frank's broken Italian didn't get them very far in understanding what had happened. Lisa, however, was more willing to talk to the uniformed officers, and they were able to learn that her parents were having a picnic somewhere in the park.

After several more minutes of Frank and the police officers being unable to get anywhere in their conversation, another car pulled up, and Edmund Wight got out of it and joined the group.

"The police called me in since they realized it was a kidnapping," he explained to Frank. "They were also hoping I could act as an interpreter, since over the phone, you didn't seem to speak Italian very well. What happened?"

Although he was slightly and inexplicably annoyed by the detective's arrival, Frank explained what had happened, leaving out the part about stupidly try to grab the handle of the car door and hoping Wight and the officers wouldn't question his torn pants or his scraped hands.

Wight rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he repeated a rendition of the story in Italian to the police officers. Then he turned back to Frank. "Can you give a description of this man and his car?"

"Yeah," Frank replied, eager to do something to make up a little for his wounded pride. "The car was a gold four-door Fiat. I don't know what model. I did get the license, though."

"That will be more helpful than just knowing that it was a Fiat," Wight commented. "There must be tens of thousand of those cars in the city."

Frank gave him the license number and then continued, "The man was in his mid-forties, I think. About five-ten, five-eleven. Er, about one and three quarters meters. He was slender, but out of shape. He had dark hair that was cut short. A thin face. He was white, but either tanned or slightly darker complexion that I am. Brown eyes, prominent chin, and his nose curved up a little."

Wight scribbled quickly to get all the information written down. "You got a good look at him, then," he commented with a frown.

"He looked right at me," Frank replied. "I couldn't help getting a good look."

"That's too bad," Wight said.

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Too bad? I would think it was a good thing. It definitely gives us a better chance of catching, and I'll be able to make a positive identification when we get him."

" _If_ we get him," Wight corrected him. "That's not definite by a long shot. And if you got a good look at him, it means he probably got a good look at you. In that case, he just might learn who you are, and if he's in with these human traffickers, I doubt they'd believe that you being to one to stop him was really just a coincidence. Given your reputation, they just might decide that you must be on the trail, and a good deal too close for comfort."

Frank paled a little, not so much from fear for himself but for Callie and their baby. "It was a coincidence," he said lamely.

Wight shrugged. "There's no need to convince me. If this was one of their people, you're in over your head now, whether you like it or not."

"Then what should I do?" Frank asked. "I can't go hide under a rock just because this guy might be in with some human traffickers who might figure out who I am and might know my reputation."

"Maybe not," Wight agreed. "It wouldn't be very practical, I guess. I do think you should take precautions, though. Your wife should, as well. At the very least, neither of you should go anywhere alone. If you're planning on staying in Italy, you may want to look into getting a concealed carry permit, and if you go back to the United States, you'll certainly want to carry a gun there. Otherwise …"

"I think I know how to protect myself in those ways," Frank interrupted. "If these people are as dangerous as you say, I don't know how much good it will do, though."

"Beyond ordinary precautions against ordinary assassins, there's nothing you can do," Wight told him. "At any rate, I don't know of any magic formula to keep you safe. If you want to rethink hiding under a rock, I could find you and your wife a safehouse that would be better than that."

"That won't be necessary," Frank replied, a little stiffly.

HBNDHBND

 _November 28 – River Heights_

There was one seat available on a flight from Chicago to New York at six in the morning day after tomorrow. Joe tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. That would mean renting a car, waiting two entire days, and having to hope that George and Vanessa wouldn't mention his trip to Ned. Knowing George, there wasn't much hope of that. His only other option was to call Jack Wayne and have him fly first to River Heights and then to New York. It wouldn't be much faster unless Jack would be willing to drop everything and leave immediately. It might be worth a shot, though.

Joe was scrolling through his contact list, looking for Jack's number when George charged into the room, Vanessa following her more quietly.

"What's the deal, Joe?" George demanded. "First, you act like you're going to faint just because I mentioned Terry Shanth's name, then you announce that you're going to go talk to him like you were saying your death sentence, and then you go and hide in your room. I mean, I know that whole case with Shanth and Clarissa Margot and Evangeline Moriare was ugly, but it's nothing to completely flip out over."

It was taking every ounce of Joe's willpower not to make any kind of retort. Only his closest friends knew about the long-lasting problems his run-ins with Terry Shanth had caused him, and George and Vanessa weren't close enough to him for that. He probably wouldn't have even told Ned if Ned hadn't found out through first-hand experience. George's demand that Joe tell her about it was not a welcome one.

On the other hand, Joe realized she couldn't possibly know what she was asking. He didn't think it would make any difference if she did, but with matters as they were, he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. "It doesn't really matter. This is just something that I've got to do, and the sooner the better. I'm going to take the first flight I can get and …"

"Whoa, hold on," George interrupted. "You just got here. What if it's a false lead?"

"Do you really think it is?" Joe asked rhetorically.

"It could be," Vanessa spoke up. "I just don't buy that Carril would have been trying to get Nancy specifically. It's too complicated a plan with too many things that could have gone wrong. Besides that, when a person wants revenge like that, they want people to know why it happened. If he was out to get Nancy, he would have put the bomb in her house or car or someplace where it would have a better chance of working."

"But he also has a grudge against the store," George insisted. "He wanted to kill two birds with one stone, or at least, two enemies with one bomb."

"That's another thing," Vanessa continued. "He's been in town for a while now. Why would have he waited until he had another grudge before doing anything about the first one?"

"Maybe the whole thing with getting fired made him snap," George suggested. "He might not have ordinarily been the sort to blow people up, and he needed a push."

"I don't think he's our man," Vanessa said flatly, crossing her arms.

"That's what I'm going to find out when I talk to Shanth," Joe replied grimly.

"I think you'll be wasting your time," George said, "unless there's something you're not telling us."

"There's several leads on the East Coast," Joe tried to cover up. "I can start running them down. I've also got another case in New York that I need to start working on. I think every possible angle here in River Heights is well-covered without me."

George narrowed her eyes. "I didn't think you'd give up this early on a case like this."

"I'm not giving up," Joe defended himself. "But, uh…" He bit his lip. There wasn't much use in saying it, but he might as well try. "Don't say anything about me going to see Shanth to Ned. There's more to the story than either of you know, and I doubt Ned is going to be too … confident in my being able to handle this."

"Ned doesn't want me to talk to you; you don't want me to talk to Ned." George shook his head. "There's something going on here, and you're going to get into some kind of trouble in New York."

"Not any that I can't get out of," Joe told her.

"And not any that you couldn't get out of even easier with some help," George said. "I'll go with you."

"Wait a minute." Joe held out a hand as if he was trying to hold her back. "I can handle this just fine on my own."

"Okay, but I can at least work on the other leads while you're tackling Shanth," George insisted.

"I don't think…" Joe began, but George cut him off again with another attempt.

"I've got a friend with a plane. We could be headed for New York this afternoon."

Joe paused. That was about the only thing George could have said that would have made him waver in his resolution to go alone. Even Jack Wayne couldn't get him on his way that soon.

"Well…" He sighed. "Okay. If your friend can really leave this afternoon."

"She can," George assured him. "Just let me call her." George grabbed her phone from her pocket and went hurrying into another room.

Vanessa eyed Joe critically. "Don't you at least want to talk to Ned and tell him what you're planning?"

"No," Joe said. "I'll call him when we're on our way and tell him what we're doing. It'll be too late for him to try to talk me out of it, then."

"Why would he try to talk you out of it? And why do you have to leave right now?"

"As for why he'd try to talk me out of it, you can ask him." Joe looked into the distance. "I need to leave as soon as possible so I won't have time to talk myself out of it."


	12. Chapter 11: Not Alone

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to everyone who has left reviews since I posted the last chapter: Candylou, BMSH, Cherylann Rivers, RadiantEyes, Highflyer, max2013, and EvergreenDreamweaver._

Chapter XI

Not Alone

 _November 28 – Rome_

It was still early in the afternoon when Frank came home, but for as tired and miserable as he felt, it might as well have been late at night. He took out his key to unlock the door to the flat and was surprised when Callie opened it from the inside.

"You're home from school early," Frank commented, feeling strangely awkward. Something twisted inside him. He hadn't felt awkward talking to Callie for years.

"I wasn't feeling well," Callie said, "so I came home right after lunch. Where have you been?"

With a large sigh and a small attempt at a reassuring smile, Frank came through the door. He held out his hands toward his wife.

"I'm so sorry, Callie," he told her sincerely.

Tears rose in Callie's eyes and she threw herself into his arms. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I was wrong to let myself get so carried away."

"No," Frank told her, holding her tight. "You were right. I didn't listen and now …"

"Now what?"

Frank led her to the loveseat and they sat down together. Then he told her about the girl in the park and Edmund Wight's dire predictions. Callie's face drained of color, and she buried it in Frank's shoulder as her tears flowed more freely.

"Now I don't know what to do," Frank said, softly stroking Callie's hair. "We can't go and hide, especially when we don't even know for sure that there's any danger. If I just would have listened to you …"

"It wouldn't have changed anything," Callie replied softly. "You weren't working on any case when it happened, and you couldn't have just let that little girl get kidnapped."

There was a long silence. There wasn't anything else to say. The danger they were in now was no one's fault, and neither of them could have done anything to change it. It might as well have been fated.

Frank held Callie a little closer, and he finally broke the silence. "Callie, I don't know what's going to happen to us. I don't know what we can do. But whatever it is, please promise me we'll do it together."

"I promise," Callie whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Frank kissed her on the top of the head.

 _November 28 – River Heights_

The River Heights airport was small. It's few commercial flights only went to a handful of cities in the area, where travelers would have to make connections. Most people just drove to Chicago for flights, and so the airport was practically deserted while Joe was waiting for George's friend, Rachel Doving, to announce that she was ready for her passengers.

George had gone to talk to her, which was all right with Joe. It had already been a long trip with her, and it hadn't even really started yet. She had barely given him a moment's peace from her endless questions about what was the deal with Terry Shanth. In her defense, Joe acknowledged that she had been kidnapped by the Shanth and Moriare gang seven years ago, when all this started, and she had no ill effects from it.

Joe smiled grimly. Had it really been seven years that he had been plagued with Terry showing up in his nightmares and sometimes even being in a flashback when he had been wide awake? On one hand, it seemed that Terry had always been his personal demon, waiting around every corner to jump out at him at the worst possible moments. On the other, it seemed like only yesterday that everything had happened.

He unconsciously rubbed his arm where his scar was. He used to be firmly in the t-shirt crowd, but those didn't quite cover up the ugly scar. Joe couldn't stand seeing it any more than he had to or answering questions about it, so he had switched out his wardrobe to mostly long-sleeved shirts that he could roll the sleeves up to his elbow. It was just another way that Terry Shanth haunted and controlled his life even now.

Joe set his chin. This was going to end today, or rather, tomorrow, since that was the earliest he would be able to see Terry. He would look his demon in the eye, see him defeated and imprisoned, and know that he didn't have power over him anymore.

For an instant, his resolve quailed. What if his imprisonment had only made Terry more bitter and dangerous? What if he could still spit his venom? What if – worst of all – merely seeing and hearing him again would send Joe into a flashback? That could only make things worse. Maybe he should give up this crazy scheme while he still could.

No. There was a reason Terry had cropped up again. Maybe it was just because Terry would always be haunting him, or maybe it was another chance for Joe to finally escape him completely. Either way, Joe had to get closure on this. He had to break Terry's power over him.

He happened to notice a small souvenir shop farther down the terminal from him. There was a rack of t-shirts in front of it in varying colors with the words "Property of River Heights" printed on the front. Joe glanced down at his arm and then up at the rack of shirts. Here was one bit of Terry's power that he could break right now.

He strode up to the rack of t-shirts and picked out a green one. He paid for it and then went straight into a restroom where he changed into it. Then he looked himself over in the mirror. The scar from Terry's bullet was a full two inches below the end of the sleeve, but he had braced himself for it, and to his relief, it wasn't as horrible as he had imagined it would be. A genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He could feel the chain loosening a little.

He went back again to where he had been waiting for George and Rachel and waited some more. _What could be taking so long?_ he wondered. There wasn't any reason why filing the flight plan and prepping the plane should take this long.

Another ten minutes passed, and Joe's phone rang. He was a little afraid it was Ned and that he had somehow figured out what Joe was up to. However, when he looked at the screen, he saw that it was someone much less expected: Iola Morton.

He took a breath to stall for time to prepare himself, but he was more surprised than uncomfortable at answering. He actually managed to sound fairly normal when he said, "Hi, Iola."

"Joe?" Iola replied. "How are you?"

"I'm not …" Joe paused. "I'm good." He needed to convince himself of that.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," Iola commented. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"I can't say that," Joe said. "I am currently looking for someone who nearly killed one of my best friends, after all."

"Fair enough," Iola admitted. "This isn't a bad time to call you, though? I was hoping you could give me some advice."

"No, it's not a bad time," Joe replied, looking around him and seeing no sign of either George or Rachel in the terminal. "What's the problem?"

"There's more than one," Iola said a little grimly. "One of them isn't mine, though, so I guess I shouldn't go blabbing that one around. The one that is mine, or is more mine, is Chet."

"What's Chet doing now?" Joe asked.

"There's this girl…" Iola began.

"Another one?" Joe chuckled.

"If it was another one of the same kind, I wouldn't have a problem with it," Iola said. "I'd probably be doing everything I could to keep them together so Chet can finally settle down."

"What's so different about this one?" Joe asked.

"It's just an intuition, but I think she's up to something. I don't have any proof, though."

"Tell me your suspicions then."

"Okay." Iola paused so she could get her thoughts in order. "Well, first of all, Chet met her online. There's nothing wrong with that, but it does mean that the rest of us know absolutely nothing about her, other than that her name is Tory Juniper and she's from Queens."

"Tory Juniper?" Joe repeated. "That sounds too fake to be fake."

"Maybe you've got a point there," Iola conceded. "That's not really the red flag that I've been seeing, anyway. See, Chet's known her for about a month now. They talk online and whatever, and Chet's gone to see her a couple of times. The first time any of the rest of us met her was on Thanksgiving."

Joe chuckled. "Talk about making meeting the parents even more awkward by throwing in the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins."

"I guess that could explain why she was so weird," Iola admitted. "I tried to talk to her and be friendly and make her feel at ease, but she would barely say two words to me. It wasn't just that she was shy, either. If there's one thing I understand, it's being shy. That isn't what this was."

"Why do you say that?"

"She was … arrogant, I'd say. She didn't act like it was uncomfortable to talk to me, but more that I wasn't worth her wasting her time."

"Sometimes shy people come across that way even though they don't mean to," Joe replied.

"True, but she acted the same way toward Mom and Dad and everyone there. Shouldn't she be trying a little harder than that to make a good impression?"

"Yeah, probably," Joe agreed. "So, what do you need advice on?"

"On whether I should talk to Chet about it or not," Iola said. "Oh, there's one other thing I almost forgot. You know how Chet always makes the rounds of all his friends houses on big holidays? He asked her if she wanted to, and I happened to be standing nearby. Do you know what she said?"

"I would have said no," Joe replied, "and I'm assuming that's what she said. At any rate, they certainly didn't show up at our place."

"That's the point. She didn't say yes or no. She just asked if that would include the Hardys' house, and when Chet said it would, she said she didn't want to go."

"Hmm. That's a little strange. I wonder what she has against us."

"I think she was afraid you or your dad would recognize her," Iola said. "Or see through her. But, obviously, I don't have any way to prove that she's up to anything. Chet's so smitten with her that if I say something without being able to back it up, he's never going to believe it. What should I do?"  
Joe grinned. "You mean, do I have time to take the case?"

"Do you?" Iola asked hopefully.

"I've already got two cases I'm working on," Joe told her. "Nancy and one for some other friends of mine. But, as it happens, both of those are taking me to New York right now. I'm waiting for the plane, actually. I'll see if I have time to check on Miss Tory Juniper of Manhattan while I'm there."

"Thanks, Joe," Iola said. "It really means a lot to me that after everything, you're still willing to help me out."

"Hey, we've already been through all of that," Joe reminded her. "Any time you need me, I'll be there."

"I know," Iola replied. "It's just… Tyler mentioned running into you the other day. He's a little concerned that you still think of as something other than a friend. I mean, he's not going to do anything like demand that you and I stop being friends. He's much too good of a person for that. But I wish you'd talk to him and set his mind at ease about it."

"I will," Joe promised, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his upcoming interview loomed up in front of him, and his resolve began to falter.

"Are you okay, Joe?" Iola asked, noticing the quiver in his voice.

"You probably should know. This case with Nancy… There's a possibility that someone we've dealt with before is behind this to get revenge. Or, rather, a friend of his."

"Not…" Iola paused, finding it hard to even say the name. "Not Terry Shanth?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, no," Iola groaned. "Not again. Is this ever going to end?"

"Yes, it is." Joe tried to speak more firmly. "It's going to end with this case."

"How can you be sure?" Iola asked.

"Because I'm going to go talk to Terry, and…"

"Joe Hardy, are you out of your mind?" Iola interrupted. "Talk to Terry? Do you have any idea what could happen if you see him again?"

"Believe me, I've thought of all the possibilities," Joe told her. "I can't let him control my life forever, and maybe seeing him in jail will… Anyway, he'll tell me whether it was a friend of his who did this, and then I'll make good and sure it's well-known that Terry was the one who put us on his trail. If his other friends hear, they won't both trying to get revenge for him anymore."

"But, Joe, someone else could talk to him," Iola said. "Someone who…"

"Won't lose it just seeing him?" Joe filled in the sentence for her. "I've got to do this for my own sake as much as for that of the case. Can't you understand?"

"I guess so," Iola admitted. "But please be careful."

"I'll call you right afterwards," Joe assured her. "It'll be tomorrow morning."

As he ended the call, he saw Ned coming toward him across the terminal. His first impulse was to turn his head away, but that thought only lasted a moment. He wouldn't be here if George or Vanessa – probably George – hadn't told him what Joe was planning. It also explained what was taking so long with the plane. George must have been waiting for Ned to get there.

"So, I guess we both learned our lesson about telling George not to tell someone something," Joe commented.

"Yeah, evidently," Ned said. "I guess maybe she's got a point. We're not going to get too far on this case if we don't tell each other when we come up with a clue."

"You came to talk me out of it?" Joe asked.

"I don't think it's a very good idea," Ned replied. "Don't forget, I was there when we caught Terry finally. And at the trial. I think you might be better off if you never have to see him again."

"I can make up my own mind about that," Joe said. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but I've got to deal with this in my own way."

Ned nodded. "I know. George said you were going to talk to him tomorrow morning? If I can't convince you not to go, then I'm willing to go with you."

Joe gave him an incredulous look. "What about Nancy and Marian?"

"My parents will watch Marian, and I can't see Nancy until tomorrow afternoon, anyway. Rachel can fly me back in time. She doesn't want to wait around New York indefinitely for you and George anyway."

"I can do this by myself," Joe said.

"I know," Ned agreed, "but you don't have to."

Joe's mouth crooked itself into a confused, half-smile. First George and now Ned. He had expected them to try to talk him out of his plan and, when they couldn't, to leave him to fend for himself. Even if it surprised him, he couldn't deny that having Ned and George along would help. After all, he couldn't very well back out of it without looking like an idiot or a coward with them there. Of course, he couldn't say that exactly.

"Well, I guess since it sounds like you've got it all planned out, you might as well come."


	13. Chapter 12: The Chain Loosens

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, Candylou, EvergreenDreamweaver, max2013, BMSH, and Highflyer for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XII

The Chain Loosens

 _November 29 – New York_

Joe bounced his foot up and down as he sat at the breakfast table with Ned and George. He and Ned had already finished their meal, but George had slept in so late that she was only beginning hers. Rachel Doving, the pilot, had stayed in the same hotel, but she had yet to put in an appearance. It didn't really matter. Joe's interview with Terry was at ten, and so there was plenty of time. He just wished it was over and done with.

"Okay," George said as she slathered butter on her pancakes, "we need a battle plan for today. You know, where we're going to go after we talk to Shanth and what we're going to do. You guys are the detectives. What do you think?"

"First of all," Joe replied, " _we're_ not going to talk to Shanth. I am by myself." Seeing that Ned was about to say something to this, he held up his hand to stop him. "You can come with me to the door, but Shanth's going to talk better to me alone. I don't know what he'd do for either of you, but if a friend of his is out for revenge and he knows about it, he's not going to be able to keep anything from me. _If_ I'm by myself, anyway."

"That's fine with me." George shrugged. "Makes more sense for the rest of us to work on the case in other ways. What if I look up this other friend of Walt Carril's that's supposed to live here in the city? Just see where he lives and all that. His name is Parker Jansen, right?"

"Right. Sounds like a good plan," Joe said out loud, while inwardly he was saying, _Thank goodness she's not coming to the prison._

"I don't know," Ned interjected. "I think it would be better if we all went to the prison together. I definitely don't think it's a good idea for George to check up on a suspect by herself."

George narrowed her eyes at him. "All this time, and you still don't think I can take care of myself?"

"As long as she just takes a taxi past the place and scopes it out, she'll be fine," Joe said. "Just don't do anything stupid like knocking on his door."

"Well, I'll still go with you, Joe," Ned insisted, "and wait outside the door if that's what you want." He still didn't like the idea of George going off by herself, but it also wasn't hard for him to guess that George's blunt and abrupt manner was making Joe nervous and that Joe didn't want her along. If that was the way it was, Ned was just going to have to accept it. The main thing right now was Joe's welfare.

"Thanks," Joe told him. This arrangement of Ned coming with him but not George was more to his liking than what he had expected would happen. Now, if he could only find a way to relax until the interview.

His first inclination was to suggest that he and Ned go do something wild and stupid for a few hours to take his mind off it, but there weren't many choices for that at this time of the day. Besides, he needed to be calm and collected when he talked to Terry. If he got too wound up beforehand, he would almost certainly ruin his chances of accomplishing either of his goals. He'd have to think of something else.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he thought about the problem, and he felt something inside one of them. He pulled it out and saw that it was a St. Jude medal on a chain. Mario Beretta had given it to him awhile ago. It reminded him that he had seen a small Catholic church while they had been driving from the airport to the hotel. After breaking up with Iola, Joe had done some major reevaluating of several aspects of his life, and one of the decisions he had made had been to join the Catholic faith. He was taking the necessary classes and would be baptized the following Easter. Everything that had happened in the last few days had been preoccupying him, but now that he thought of it, the quiet stillness of a church sounded like the perfect place to calm down.

While he had still been thinking all of this, George finished her breakfast and stood up. "I'll see you guys later. We can meet back here at the hotel. I'll probably be back before you two."

As she walked away, Joe told Ned his plan. Ned raised his eyebrows in surprise; it wasn't much in keeping with Joe's usually action-oriented attitude, but he agreed without comment.

It was only a short drive in the rental car to the church, which was, fortunately, unlocked as several other people were there to pray. Joe and Ned remained there until it was time to leave for the interview, Joe spending the time praying for strength and courage. He wasn't much more confident when he left, but he did feel more willing to accept whatever outcome the quickly-approaching trial would have.

As Joe and Ned were approaching the intimidating penitentiary, Joe stopped short in surprise. Someone he certainly did not expect was standing was walking toward the door at the same moment. When she saw Joe staring at her, she smiled encouragingly. Ned noticed her at the same time, and he glanced from her to Joe, not sure what would come out of this encounter. Joe gave a small shake of his head and then hurried forward.

"Iola?" he asked. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Iola ran a hand through her dark hair. "I couldn't stop thinking about you coming here to see … him. I didn't want you to be alone." She looked at Ned. "Although, I guess you're not. I hope I'm not making things any worse."

Seeing her here was a surprise, no doubt, and Joe knew what she meant that she might potentially make things worse for him. Now that the initial shock was over, though, he was glad to see her. If he did lose his grip on himself in there, Iola would understand better than Ned. Moreover, knowing that both of them would be waiting for him and knowing that they both cared enough about him to come all this way just so he wouldn't have to face this alone would give him strength.

"Thanks," he told her, and Iola could see that he meant it.

All three of them hesitated a moment. Then Ned broke the silence by suddenly saying, "Sorry. I don't know where my head's at. How have you been doing, Iola?"

"Just fine." Iola smiled, and that smile told Joe more than all his conversations with her had. For the first time in years, Iola could say that she was "just fine" and it was completely true. Slowly but surely, she had healed from the trauma that Terry Shanth and his cohorts had put her through. She was genuinely and unmitigatedly happy, despite the problems she was currently dealing with. "I heard about Nancy," Iola went on. "Is she all right?"

"She's getting there," Ned replied. "The doctors are hopeful that she'll be able to come home in about a week."

"Iola," Joe said, his conscience pricking at him. He knew that his discomfort around Tyler had been obvious every time he had seen him, and his last conversation with Iola had confirmed that Tyler suspected Joe's feelings for Iola weren't entirely platonic. Joe himself wasn't completely sure what he felt about Iola, but he did know that any happiness she had now had been hard-won and if it was because of Tyler, he didn't want to jeopardize it. "Are you sure Tyler didn't mind you coming?"

"Of course not," Iola told him. "He knows we're still friends and he wouldn't dream of not letting me be there for you when you needed me."

"Are you ready, Joe?" Ned asked.

Joe nodded. Standing around out here all morning wouldn't get them anywhere, and it would take a little while to get through security.

It was two minutes past ten when Joe was seated in the visiting room at the penitentiary. Terry hadn't been brought in yet, and when he would, there would be a glass panel between him and Joe. Joe tapped his foot nervously, feeling almost sick to his stomach.

Then a door opened, and Terry Shanth walked in wearing a prison uniform. He had a scornful expression on his face, and his arms were folded over his chest. He didn't unfold them even as he sat down opposite Joe. He glared at Joe for a few moments, and then he reached to pick up the phone receiver that he would use to talk to Joe. Joe did the same, trying not to let his hand shake.

"When they told me you were coming to see me, I didn't believe them," Terry said without preamble. "If I would have refused to see you if I had known they were serious. I only agreed because I wanted to see what the gag was."

Joe didn't reply. His mouth had gone dry and refused to work. It had been years since he had heard Terry's voice in person, although it had haunted him in his dreams and flashbacks.

"So, did you just come to stare at me?" Terry asked after nearly a minute had elapsed. "'Cause if you did, even you have to admit that's kind of weird. Besides, if you've got nothing to say, I've got better things to do than stare at your face, especially since I was hoping I'd never have to see it again."

"I…" Joe began and immediately wished that he had waited until he had just a little bit better grip on himself. Now he sounded ridiculous. He cleared his throat and began again, "I'm here to ask you about a friend of yours."

Terry raised one eyebrow. "I doubt you know any of my friends. They're not the goody-goody type like you are."

"Is one of them trying to finish out your revenge on us?" Joe asked bluntly.

The look of surprise on Terry's face at that question was unmistakable and, Joe felt, genuine. "Why do ask that?"

"Someone tried to kill Nancy Drew," Joe replied.

Disappointment settled over Terry's features. "Only tried? Well, I suppose that's better than nothing. Who was it so I can send a thank-you note?"

Joe felt certain that Terry hadn't known about the attack beforehand, but that didn't mean that he couldn't shed some light on what had happened. "We don't know for sure. Our prime suspect is named Walt Carril."

"Never heard of him."

"Oh, now, I know that's not true," Joe said. "You were arrested with him about ten years ago."

Terry shrugged. "I've been arrested lots of times. I don't remember who it was with every time."

"That's some gratitude," Joe replied. "This guy tries to finish your revenge for you and then you pretend to not even know him."

Terry leaned forward until his breath fogged the glass. "I don't know what kind of a game you're playing, Hardy. I don't know any Walt Carril and I didn't send anyone to kill Nancy Drew. Between you and her and your brother and your father and her father, you've taken everything from me. So, I'm sure you'll understand if I don't want to look at you any longer than I have to."

When Terry had first thrust his face so close to the glass, Joe had flinched and glanced away. Then he had steeled himself and returned Terry's gaze, staring him in the eye. It was a strange thing. He had expected Terry to be subdued after five years of imprisonment, but he wasn't. He wasn't a broken and defeated enemy, and that had disappointed Joe at first. However, now it struck Joe that Terry wasn't the demon he had thought he was. His eyes burned with hate, certainly, but it was a tired glow, like dying embers. Behind it, Joe could see pain and sorrow. For a moment, Joe could see himself in those eyes and what he might have become.

"I understand," Joe said, ostensibly to Terry's request. He was relieved to hear that the tremor had disappeared from his voice. "But if you know anything, you have to tell me."

"I don't have to tell you anything," Terry sneered. "But I will tell you this. I'm going to get out of here someday, somehow, and when I do, I'm going to come for you and Frank and your dad and Nancy and Carson, and you won't get away from me a second time."

"We already did." Joe almost smirked.

There wasn't anything else to say, so Joe ended the interview. He felt lighter than he had in a long time as he left. He had gotten through this without breaking, and his personal demon had turned out to be nothing more than an angry, pained man. The chain had loosened a little more.


	14. Chapter 13: The Phone Call

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, BMSH, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, Caranath, RadiantEyes, Highflyer, and EvergreenDreamweaver for your reviews on the last chapter! For those of you who are wondering where Fenton is, he's a big part of this chapter, although he's not going to have a super huge part in the story overall. Realistically, I suppose he would probably be taking a more active part here, but one of the main goals of this story is for Frank, Joe, and Nancy to fully mature, and for that to happen, their parents are going to have to take a little step back._

Chapter XIII

The Phone Call

 _November 29 – Rome_

Frank and Callie had had a long conversation that had lasted until long into the night. It had accomplished very little as far as deciding what they needed to do about their current situation or in the long term. They tried to work toward a solution that would make them both happy, but that was proving harder than they expected. Even so, they had accomplished one very important thing during the conversation: they had both calmed each other's fears and now they both knew without a doubt that somehow they would find a way to make this all work out.

The next morning, Callie emailed her professors to tell them that she wouldn't be in school that day. She and Frank spent the morning at home, not really wanting to go out, even if there hadn't been the possibility of danger. At one point in the morning, Edmund Wight had called Frank to tell him that as far as anyone in his organization knew, no one fitting the description of the man Frank had seen was involved with the kidnappers they were investigating. That comforted them a little, but it was far from conclusive proof that they were safe.

Finally, they had decided to call Fenton and Laura Hardy and tell them the entire situation and get their insight. Fenton, of course, could give them some advice on what to do about the kidnappers, and they could both help Frank and Callie work through their difficulties from their own experience. It wasn't an easy decision to make, since both Frank and Callie tended to be overly private with their problems, but in the end, they realized that they would need help in this.

They put the video call through at seven-thirty in the morning for Bayport, knowing that the Hardys were early risers and also wanting to place the call before Fenton would leave for the office. Fortunately, they caught both Frank's parents awake and at home.

After greeting them and exchanging some small talk, including asking Fenton and Laura if they had heard anything more about Nancy, Frank cleared his throat and prepared to get down to business. "So, we have a specific reason for calling." He put an arm around Callie's shoulders. No sense giving the wrong impression.

"And it is…?" Fenton prompted him when Frank didn't continue.

"Oh. We've got some problems," Frank began again. He glanced at Callie. Although they both had agreed that they needed to explain the situation fully to Fenton and Laura, he didn't want to embarrass her by blurting it out.

"The first thing we have to tell you isn't a problem, though," Callie picked up the conversation. "We had thought about telling you when we came home for Christmas, and it's still very early, but…" She paused and smiled. "We're expecting."

Fenton and Laura's excitement was obvious in their animated congratulations and delighted smiles. Frank squeezed Callie's shoulders a little tighter as they listened, neither of them talking much over the excitement of the grandparents-to-be.

Finally, the excitement calmed down, and Laura remembered that Frank had said that he and Callie had a problem. A little tremor of fear running through her, she asked them about it. Frank and Callie looked at each other, the happiness on their faces fading.

"There's two problems, actually," Frank said. He first explained the kidnapping case and the potential dangers it was posing. He had already told Fenton part of it when he had asked him to look into Edmund Wight, but neither of his parents had heard the most recent developments.

Fenton and Laura's previous excitement turned to expressions of concern, and they considered the problem for a few moments before either of them said anything.

"I've been looking into this Wight," Fenton said. "So far, I haven't found anything to contradict what he told you, Frank, although I haven't been able to find out what this organization he supposedly works for is."

"There's something weird about that," Frank agreed. "The way he talked about it sound like there was something unusual about it. On the other hand, if they're investigating governments, they probably are trying to keep as much attention away from themselves as possible."

Fenton nodded. "That does make sense. It just makes it harder to find out whether they're legitimate."

"Would it be any safer for you in Bayport?" Laura asked, the safety of her son, daughter-in-law, and grandchild uppermost in her mind.

"A little, I guess," Frank told her. "I mean, mostly just because we'd be on our own turf and have friends and family around us. I don't like the idea of hiding from this, though, and always having to look over our shoulders."

"True, but you need to be practical about this," Fenton said. "If it's too dangerous, you're not going to be able to do any good there."

"Then, also, there's Giada," Frank went on, not knowing how to respond to his dad's point directly. "I said I'd look for her. Her parents are counting on me. I can't just forget about that case and the danger that little girl is in."

"But if it puts your own wife and child at risk…" Fenton pointed out.

"That's the other problem," Callie spoke up. "I know it's late for me to be saying this, and I wouldn't have before. I didn't… It wasn't… I wasn't as worried before, but everything's different now, and I didn't know that I'd feel this way when it came to it."

Frank squeezed Callie's shoulders again to reassure her. "Callie's worried about the danger this is putting us all in. Not just this case, but my work in general. And if there's one thing that this case is proving, it's that she has a point. I wasn't too understanding when she first brought it up, but I'm starting to see better now. We've been talking about whether a change in career might not be a bad idea, and we were hoping you two could give us some advice about this. After all, you were in the same position as us once."

Fenton and Laura looked at each other, and a small smile of understanding crossed each of their faces.

"Not once," Laura said, turning back to Frank and Callie. "It's something we've had to think about and talk about ever since we decided to get married."

"But you've worked something out," Callie replied. "How do you do it?"

"Just knowing how we've done it isn't going to solve all your problems," Fenton pointed out. "You're different people, and it's a different time than when Laura and I were married. You'll have to find your own solution, but maybe ours can help you find it."

"As you might know," Laura began, "I've always been worried about Fenton's work. And of course, when you and Joe started solving cases, Frank, it only got worse, but those worries are a few years down the road for you two, if it happens at all. I remember being where you're at now, Callie: a newlywed, expecting my first child, and worried about my husband's job."

"So, what did you do?" Callie asked.

"We talked about it a lot." Laura instinctively reached for her husband's hand. "Fenton was worried about it, too. There were a few things that we had to realize. First of all, being a detective was – and is – passionate about. He wouldn't be happy doing any other work. Now, for a little while before we were even engaged, I felt a little under-loved over that. After all, wasn't I enough to make him happy? Then I realized I was thinking of it like Fenton was choosing between his work and me. That wasn't the case at all, unless I would have made it be. It was a choice between doing something important and fulfilling and that Fenton loved or doing something just to get by."

"In other words," Fenton added, "if the choice had been between running off to the mountains or the ocean with Laura and just enjoying life or risking everything as a New York cop, it would have been foolish of me to choose being a cop. But that wasn't the choice we were making."

"And of course, when I looked at it that way," Laura went on, "I realized that I didn't want to make Fenton unhappy. Sentence him to work forty hours a week at a job he didn't care about."

"Then the other thing we considered was that I was good at being a detective," Fenton said. "More than that, if I quit, someone else would take my place. At best, he or she would have been a hardworking, dedicated, honest officer who cared about the job and the people they were serving, but they would either have to choose between not being married or being in the same situation we were. It would be silly to expect all police officers to stay single their entire lives, and so married people have to find a way to deal with it, and if it wasn't us, it would have been someone else. At worst, I would be making room for someone who would abuse their authority and only make things worse for the people they were supposed to be protecting, not to mention make things harder for all the decent cops out there as people like that always do. We didn't want to accept that responsibility. And whoever replaced me, I myself would be sitting back and doing nothing to help anyone, even though I could."

"But you did quit the NYPD," Callie pointed out. "Why?"

"That was one compromise we did make," Fenton said. "Although, it wasn't really a compromise by that point. After what happened to Mitch Johnson, –" His voice faltered slightly – "we took a hard look at what we were doing. Laura was even more worried than ever, and I was having a hard time doing my work. We decided that if I became a private detective and we moved to a small town, I could still be doing the work I cared about but it should be safer. I don't know that the safer part happened, though."

Callie focused on breathing for a few beats. She could see where this was going, and she could feel tears threatening to form in her eyes. She didn't want to cry in front of Fenton and Laura. She didn't want to cry at all. She had done enough of that over the last few days, and it hadn't gotten her anywhere other than feeling weak and selfish and even sicker than she was already feeling.

"But, Laura," she managed to say, "how did you do it? Even if you did reason all this out, how could you stand living every day, not knowing if…" Her voice began to break, she felt the tears welling up to the surface, and she couldn't go on.

Laura sighed. "I wish I could say it was easy. It's not. I think about all the things that could happen and have happened, and some days, it seems like we've beaten the odds too many times for it to last much longer. But then there are other days when I can think about all the good that's come out of it. Our lives would be very different if Fenton had done some other kind of work, but I don't think it would be better. We would probably be living in some tiny house in New York. We might not have ever heard of Bayport, and we wouldn't know any of our friends here. We wouldn't even know you, Callie. And Fenton, Frank, and Joe wouldn't be the men they are today and whom I love so much and am so proud of. I know this is all hindsight, Callie, and there's no way of knowing whether yours and Frank's lives will turn out anything the same, but if it makes any difference to you, I'm glad Fenton and I made the decisions we did, even with the risks."

Callie nodded, not able to talk for fear that would open the floodgates.

Frank saw her predicament and spared her having to answer. "Thanks, Mom. Dad. That does help. There's still the problem about this kidnapping case, though. I need to do something about it right away, and I don't know what."

"I can't tell you what to do there, son," Fenton told him. "All I can tell you is that whatever Wight is up to, I hope you take his advice and take every precaution for yours and Callie's safety."

"I will," Frank promised. "That's my first priority."


	15. Chapter 14: On the Trail

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, Highflyer, Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, and EvergreenDreamweaver for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XIV

On the Trail

 _November 29 – New York_

"He could be lying," Ned stated flatly. He, Joe, and Iola were just walking out into the parking lot of the penitentiary, and Joe had reported his interview with Terry Shanth. Although Ned and Iola were both glad to see that Joe was none the worse for the trial, they were skeptical about Terry's claim to be ignorant of the entire matter.

"I don't think so," Joe replied. "If he knew anything about this, he would have let something slip. He's not quite the genius Evangeline was."

"Or he could just want you to think that," Ned pointed out. "Don't forget what a manipulator she was."

Joe nodded. "I'm not likely to. But Terry's not like her. Not at all. That's the only reason Evangeline didn't manage to kill all of us."

"Maybe," Ned conceded, "but either way, there's no way to know for sure. We can't rule him and Carril out."

"It also doesn't sound like you've learned anything from this trip," Iola added. "Does that mean you're going to go back to River Heights right away?"

"Ned is," Joe said. "George and I are going to stick around and see what we can find out about Carril. We knows he's most likely on the East Coast, anyway, so we're closer here than we are in River Heights. Besides, I've got two other things to look into while I'm here." He gave Iola a knowing glance.

She smiled in return. "Thanks."

"Are you headed back to Bayport now?" Joe asked.

"Well, it takes a couple of hours to drive," Iola replied, "so I figured I might as well make a whole day out of it. I'll drive back this afternoon."

"Then what do you guys say to an early lunch?" Joe suggested. "I didn't exactly eat much for breakfast this morning and I'm about starved."

All three of them agreed to that, and they drove the rental car to look for a restaurant, planning to come back for Iola's car after the meal. Ned and Iola were surprised by how much Joe talked while they were eating, especially after they were expecting him to dismal and shaken after talking to Terry. They both wondered what exactly had happened during that interview.

They had nearly finished when George called Ned's phone. As soon as he saw her name on the screen, Ned was hoping for a new development in the case. As it turned out, that was exactly what George was calling about, but it wasn't a welcome development.

"So, Ned," George was saying, "you know how the plan was for Rachel to fly you back just as soon as you were done at the prison? We're going to have to change that a little bit."

"Why?" Ned asked.

"When Rachel went to look over her plane and get it ready and everything, she found that somebody had sabotaged it during the night. Airport security didn't hear a thing, but somebody had cut fuel lines, messed around with the engine, you name it. There's no way that plane is getting off the ground for at least a few days."

"Great," Ned groaned. This ruined everything. He had taken it for granted that he would be able to get back to see Nancy today. If he had to wait for Rachel's plane to get fixed or have to take a commercial flight, it could be several days. If that wasn't bad enough, it was looking like he had made this whole trip for nothing. Joe hadn't learned anything from Terry, and the way Joe was acting now, it didn't look like he had needed any moral support. Then, to top it all off, when he hung up and told Joe and Iola about it, Joe's reaction was much less sympathetic than it might have been.

"That's great news!" Joe announced as soon as Ned finished telling him.

Ned stared at him in bewilderment. "How exactly is it great news?"

"It means we're onto something after all," Joe explained. "People don't sabotage your vehicles or try to kill you or whatever unless they see you as a threat, and they don't see you as a threat if you're several hundred miles away on a false lead."

Iola did a facepalm. "I haven't heard you say anything that dumb since you were probably, like, seventeen."

Joe gave her a lopsided grin. "What can I say? It's true."

"It doesn't help Ned very much, who was hoping to get home to his wife who is in the hospital," Iola pointed.

"Oh." Joe became more serious. "Right. Sorry, Ned. I could call Jack Wayne and ask him to fly you back to River Heights. I don't think he could get you there in time to see Nancy today, though."

"Thanks," Ned replied. "I guess if that's the only option… I hate to bug him, but I do need to get back to Nancy."

"He should be used to us Hardys calling him to ask him to fly us somewhere by now," Joe told him, and got out his phone. Jack didn't answer the call, so Joe left a message.

It was only a few minutes later, when the three of them were leaving the restaurant and heading back to the rental car, that Joe's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, expecting to see Jack Wayne's name on the screen. Instead, it was Fenton calling.

"Hi, Dad. What's up?" he said as he answered it.

"I want you to do something for me, Joe," Fenton told him.

Joe sighed. "I've already got three cases I'm working on, Dad. I'm booked. I don't know how I'd have time for another…"

"Frank and Callie are in trouble," Fenton interrupted him.

Joe froze, feeling every muscle in his body tighten. "Of course, I can make time."

HBNDHBND

 _November 29 – River Heights_

Nancy was sitting up in bed, reading. She was feeling much better today and was beginning to let herself hope that she'd be released from the hospital sooner than later. The burns and the smoke inhalation were healing well, she had been assured by her doctor, who had also told her that the scars might not even be so bad as she had been fearing. She couldn't wait for Ned to get there, since this was the first time in days that she was feeling up to a real conversation. It was a surprise, then, when it was Vanessa who came into her room.

"Hi," Nancy said, both glad to see her friend and puzzled as to why she was there. "Did they drop the only-two-visitors-a-day thing?"

"No," Vanessa replied with an apologetic smile. "They didn't. Actually, your dad will be here in a couple of minutes."

"Then where's Ned?" Fear pulsed up as she watched Vanessa closely. Surely nothing could have happened to Ned.

"He's fine," Vanessa hastened to assure her, recognizing the fright in Nancy's face and voice. "He's in New York, actually." Then she explained why Ned, Joe, and George had gone to New York and how Ned had phoned a little while earlier to explain why he wouldn't be able to get home that day.

She had just finished explaining when Carson came into the room. He greeted Nancy with a kiss on her forehead.

"How are you doing, Nancy?" he asked.

"Better," Nancy assured him, "even though it sounds like I'm missing all the fun. How's Marian?"

"Ned's parents have been watching her," Carson told her, "although I went to see her on my lunch break. She's doing just fine. She rolled over again today."

Nancy gave a melancholy smile. "And I missed it again. At this rate, I'm going to miss her crawling for the first time, or taking her first steps, or saying her first word."

Carson patted her hand. "Don't worry about that. You won't be in here that long."

"Yeah. I guess not." Nancy sighed. She already knew that, but that wasn't necessarily what she was worried about. Something else could come up to make her miss one of those landmarks, and with the way her life went, things were always coming up. Then, also, she had been lucky this time. She could have been killed and left Ned to raise their daughter alone and Marian to grow up without even knowing her mother, just like she had grown up. She tightened her jaw. She couldn't think about that right now. To change the subject and get her mind on something else, she asked, "So, you guys really think that this has something to do with what happened with the Moriares and Terry and Clarissa and all of that?"

"I don't," Vanessa said plainly. "Joe doesn't anymore. Ned and George still do, by all accounts. Carson, here, says that he's undecided until all the facts are in."

"Probably the best position to take," Nancy replied, glancing at her dad. "What are the facts? What makes you think someone else is behind it?"

"If Walt Carril was trying to take revenge against you," Vanessa began, "I don't think this is the way he would have done it. He didn't know Carl McGregor would call you in or that you would be in the warehouse. It's too big of an if, and it's not even like he could just try again if he failed. He put his name out there, and he had to run."

"Why doesn't Joe think it's Shanth?" Nancy asked.

"Shanth said it wasn't, and Joe thinks he's telling the truth," Vanessa replied. "A hunch on his part, I guess."

"Joe's hunches are usually good," Nancy commented. "So, what's your theory, Van?"

"I think that McGregor is behind it," Vanessa replied. "Carril made his threat, and so McGregor knew he would have a scapegoat. He probably knew about the connection with Shanth from the background check, and he might know that you have a connection there. You'd find out that Shanth and Carril know each, or at least, knew each other, and would be convinced that Carril was our man. You'd spend all your time tracking down Carril, and meanwhile McGregor could get clear. And so far, his plan's worked pretty well."  
"If that's his plan," Nancy added. "What's his motive, though? Barring complete insanity, a person doesn't do something like that without a motive. As far as I know, McGregor didn't have anything to gain from it. He lost his job and he's not going to get any insurance."

"Someone could have paid him off," Vanessa suggested. "Like a rival store."

"Whoever does get the insurance is going to get a large check," Carson spoke up. "But it's a chain store, owned by stockholders. There's no individual who stands to gain enough from the insurance to make it worthwhile to risk everything on an insurance fraud."

"Unless the whole chain is going under," Nancy said. "They might need the money to stay afloat, or maybe they want to make what they can while they can."

"Then they could have paid McGregor to do it," Vanessa added. "He would have lost his job anyway, and they probably paid him a lot."

"It's worth looking into," Nancy agreed. "We'll have to find out whether the chain is in trouble or not."

"I'll get right on it." Vanessa stood up.

"Wait," Nancy told her, another thought occurring to her. "What kind of bomb was it?"

Vanessa wrinkled her brows in confusion. "I wouldn't know."

"The police must have figured it out, at least enough for our purposes," Nancy said. "If it was a simple bomb, an amateur could have set it off, but if it was a more complicated one, it would have had to be a professional. That means our culprit has experience with explosives or electronics. Find out if either McGregor or Carril has a background that would match that. If not and if the bomb was sophisticated, we'll need to find ourselves some new suspects."

Vanessa nodded. "I'll find out about that, too. I'll let you know tomorrow."

As she hurried away, Nancy sighed. An entire day before she'd know anything.


	16. Chapter 15: The Search for Angelo

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Caranath, max2013, Highflyer, EvergreenDreamweaver, and Cherylann Rivers for your reviews since I posted the last chapter!_

Chapter XV

The Search for Angelo

 _November 29 – The Bronx_

Joe was staring at his smartphone as Ned stopped the rental car in a relatively quiet side street in the Bronx. "There's got to be something," Joe muttered.

"Is this the right place?" Ned asked.

Joe glanced up from his phone for a few seconds. "Yeah. This is right. Just a second."

"What if you got a flight into a different city?" Iola, who was sitting in the backseat, suggested. "You could a car or get a cab. I mean, this is already going to be a really expensive trip."

"I've been looking," Joe told her. "At least one person has got to have canceled their flight."

Fenton had explained Frank and Callie's predicament to Joe. Much as Fenton wanted to head straight to Italy, he and Sam Radley were currently working on an important government case that they couldn't abandon. Joe, however, was eager to go the moment he heard, but finding a flight at that late date wasn't easy.

He jammed his phone back in his pocket. "Okay. I guess we might as well go inside."

The others followed him into an old, small building that someone had tried hard to improve but it had evidently fought back every step of the way. A sign above the door read "St. Vincent's Catholic Mission," and a picture of the mission's namesake had been painted on the window to one side. It was just before lunchtime, and the building was crowded with people in need. Iola stepped a little closer to the two men, intimidated by the rough-looking people.

They had made a quick trip to the airport to see if they could find any clues to the person who had sabotaged Rachel's plane. They found nothing, and since no one had any ideas where to go next on the Carril case, Joe decided he would get started on the Beretta one. Ned and Iola had opted to go with him, since the idea of sitting around while George worked on her laptop didn't appeal to them.

Joe made his way through the crowd to the counter where lunch would be served. A woman was behind it, busy with last minute preparations.

"Excuse me," Joe said to her. "I know this isn't a very good time, but is Father Giovanni here?"

"Of course, he's here," the woman replied with some annoyance. "And you're right that this isn't a good time. If you need to talk to him, come back in a couple of hours."

"We're kind of on a schedule and this is important. It will only take a minute." Just then, Joe spotted the priest across the room, and he hurried to go talk with him.

"Joe," Father Giovanni Beretta said in surprise. "I didn't know you were here already."

"I know," Joe replied. "Things have been a little hectic. Sorry I've put your case off so long."

"It's only been a few days," Father Giovanni told him.

"I know," Joe said, "but in a case like this, a few days can make a big difference. Oh, these are some friends of mine: Iola Morton and Ned Nickerson."

Both of them shook hands with Father Giovanni. Then Joe went on, detailing everything he needed as quickly and as businesslike as possible so that he wouldn't take up any more of Father Giovanni's time than he had to.

"Mario mentioned that he got an address on Angelo," Joe said. "I'm going to need it. I also need a picture of Angelo if you have one and anything you know about any of his friends or places he hangs out or anything."

"I don't know Angelo very well, so I can't help you very much," Father Giovanni explained. "Mario might be able to, but I'm not sure that he knows much more than I do. I don't have a picture of him either. We did learn that he was dating this girl."

"That could be helpful," Joe commented. "Mario didn't mention it last time I talked to him."

"He just found out last night," Father Giovanni replied. "Her name is Elizabeth Hart, I believe. Mario hasn't had a chance to learn anything about her besides an address, though. Here, I'll give that to you, as well as Angelo's."

"I don't know why you called me in," Joe joked as the priest wrote down the two addresses. "It sounds like Mario is doing just fine investigating it on his own."

The two apartments were within fifteen minutes of each other in Queens. Joe and his friends decided to go to Angelo's apartment first, on the off-chance that he would still be there. He didn't know any of them, so they could easily pretend that they had gotten the wrong door if he happened to be home when they knocked on the door.

"Why not just grab him then?" Iola asked as they walked toward the building.

"I'm not necessarily supposed to grab him," Joe replied, as he checked the airlines again one more time before they went inside. "I'm just supposed to find him and find out what kind of trouble he's in. Depending on who it is, though, the safest place for him might be jail."

"So, how are you going to figure out what kind of trouble he's in if we don't talk to him?" Ned asked.

"I haven't figured that out yet," Joe admitted. "I'm open to suggestions."

No one had any suggestions, so their plan was no more cemented than it already was by the time Joe was pressing Angelo's doorbell. He waited a couple of minutes and then pressed it again. Still no one answered.

A door a short way down the hall opened and a middle-aged man came out. He gave the group a quizzical look. "I don't think the guy that lives there is home," he told them.

"Do you know when he'll come back?" Iola asked.

"No," the man told them. "I'm not a friend of his. Are you?"

Joe shook his head. "We're private detectives. We want to ask Mr. Beretta a few questions. If you could help us contact him at all, we would appreciate it."

"Private detectives, huh?" The man looked instantly intrigued. "Is this about that thing in the parking lot or his little sideline business?"

"That depends," Joe said. "What happened in the parking lot?"

The man shrugged. "I didn't see it. Everyone's been saying him and another guy were yelling at each other a couple of days ago and then Beretta – if that's his name – tried to back over him with his car."

"What do you mean 'if that's his name'?" Ned asked.

"He doesn't talk to anybody in the building," the man explained. "Nobody knows what his name is. One of the kids upstairs dubbed him Jack a while ago, and it's kinda stuck. I guess the thing in the parking lot could have been about his extra business."

"What is his extra business?" Joe asked, although he could guess the answer.

"Well, I don't know anything for sure," the man sidestepped the question. "None of us do."

"That's okay. Tell us what you think," Joe encouraged him.

The man hesitated a moment longer and then shrugged. "I guess it doesn't make any difference. From the people that go in there at all hours of the night and just the way that he doesn't talk to anybody, doesn't associate with anybody, most of us think that he's probably dealing drugs."

Joe nodded slowly. That could add up. Angelo could owe a supplier, have cheated a buyer who had decided to ask for their money back rather than just murdering him, or he could have gotten mixed up with a big-time operation and somehow fallen into debt with them.

"So, I guess there's no point in asking you if you have any idea where he might have gone," Iola spoke up.

"Sorry," the man said. "Honestly, I just hope he's gone for good."

Joe thanked the man and then they went back down to the car. While Joe checked his phone again to see if there were any flights available, Ned drove to the address of Elizabeth Hart, Angelo's girlfriend. Again they decided to try the same ruse to get a feel for Elizabeth and determine whether it would do any good to ask questions. Before they went up, though, they looked around the parking lot for Angelo's car, which Mario had described to them. It was not there.

When they reached Elizabeth's apartment and rang the doorbell, there was a short pause. Joe's sharp ears, however, just barely caught the sound of whispering and then footsteps hurrying somewhere. Then the door opened as far as the chain on it would allow, and a young, blonde woman with a drawn expression peered out at them.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Uh," Joe said, feigning confusion. "We were looking for Greg. Is he here?"

The woman shook her head. "There's no Greg here. You must have the wrong apartment."

She started to close the door, but Joe stopped her. "Wait. This is apartment 206, isn't it? I was sure that was the one he said."

"Maybe you have the wrong building," the woman said. "I live here alone."

"His name's Greg Kirby," Joe went on. "Do you know if he lives in this building?"

The woman shook her head. "No. I just moved here and I don't know anyone. Why you just call your friend and double-check?"

"I guess we'll have to." Joe pretended to sigh. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"It's no bother," the woman assured him. She glanced nervously over her shoulder and bit her lip. Then she beckoned with one hand for Joe to come closer. When he did, she whispered, "Please, help me."

"How?" Joe whispered back, but she closed the door instead of replying.

The three friends looked at each other in bewilderment. They retreated a few yards down the hall to hold a whispered consultation.

"There's somebody else in that apartment," Joe declared. "They went and hid when we rang the doorbell. I'll bet you anything it's our buddy, Angelo. He probably went there to lay low, and he must have worn out his welcome already."

"Shouldn't we call the police, then?" Iola asked. "I mean, it's one thing if he's just in his own apartment, but if he's threatening this Elizabeth Hart, that's another thing altogether."

Ned nodded in agreement. "They'll have a better chance of keeping the situation under control than we would."

"I wish we knew what we were calling them for," Joe said, "but you guys are probably right. Ned, how about you go down to the main floor and call them and wait for them there. Iola and I will stay up here to make sure nobody leaves."

Ned agreed and hurried to the elevator. Joe and Iola took up their post next to the elevator doors, which were also next to the stairs. If anyone tried to leave the apartment, they would have to walk right past them.

"I hope the police get here quick," Iola commented, "before somebody calls them on us for loitering."

"I'm not as worried about that as them calling the manager," Joe replied. "If they come and make a fuss, Angelo or whoever is in that apartment is going to get suspicious."

There was a pause for a minute or so, but it struck Joe that this was one of the first times in a long time that he and Iola had been together, saying nothing, and it wasn't awkward. He let out a small, wistful sigh. This was nice.

Iola cocked her head at him. "Something wrong?"

"No. Well, yes." Joe grinned ruefully. "I guess while we're waiting, you might as well tell me about Ms. Tory Juniper. Is there anything else to add to what you've already told me?"

"Well, I did a little bit of snooping," Iola confessed. "I found out from Chet – he'll tell you anything if you know how to ask – that when he met her in the city, he didn't meet her at her house or apartment or whatever. He has no idea where she lives. If Chet, at least, didn't seem so serious already, I wouldn't think anything about it. After all, I wouldn't tell a guy I barely know where I live."

"Not even Tyler when you met him?" Joe asked, using a mischievous tone to hide the trace of bitterness that was trying to make itself heard.

Iola blushed. "I guess not right at first. Joe, what do you think of Tyler?"

"What difference does it make?"

"It makes a difference to me," Iola said. "You're a good friend and a good judge of character, and I know you're looking out for my best interests. If you thought there was a problem with him, I'd want to know."

Joe hesitated, tempted to use the opportunity to his advantage. Instantly, he felt disgusted with himself. It was only earlier that day that he had made a vow not to get in the way of Iola's happiness, even if that meant letting her be happy without him.

"I've only met him a couple of times, but from what I can see and from what you've said, I think he's a great guy." Joe could feel his throat tightening as he spoke. "I hope things work out between you. You deserve someone like that."

Iola read more into Joe's words than he had meant to reveal. "Joe, Tyler thinks you still feel for me. You don't, do you?"

Joe couldn't meet her eyes. There was nothing in him that would let him lie and say no, even though he thought that would make things simpler. He was trying to form words – what words, he wasn't sure – when there was a sudden, piercing scream from the apartment they were watching. Instinctively, Joe leapt at the door, reaching it just as someone inside flung it open.

For a moment, he was face-to-face with a dark-haired, dark-eyed man in his late twenties. In the long second that followed, Joe noted that the room behind him was a mess, and that the woman who had answered the door a few minutes earlier was kneeling on the floor in the midst of the wreckage, sobbing with her face in her hands. Then Joe made a move to grab the man. At the same moment, his opponent's fist shot out. Joe ducked, but in doing so, was only able to grab a handful of the man's shirt rather than getting into a position that he could wrestle him.

The man reached for his back pocket, at the same time prying Joe's fingers from his shirt. Joe was off-balance and bent over from ducking. His opponent slammed his knee into Joe's stomach, distracting him long enough to pull himself free. Then the hand that had reached for the pocket reached out and jabbed something into Joe's back. There was a loud crackle of electricity, and then everything went blank.


	17. Chapter 16: Breaking and Healing

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Highflyer, Caranath, Candylou, max2013, BMSH, and Cherylann Rivers for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XVI

Breaking and Healing

 _November 29 – Queens_

"Joe! Joe!" The words faded in as Joe slowly regained his awareness of his surroundings. He was lying on the floor just outside the apartment. Iola was bent over him, frantically shaking him and repeating his name over and over.

As he groaned and sat up, she asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I think so," Joe replied. "Just give me a second."

As he leaned against the wall, he noticed the woman he had spoken to through the door of the apartment hanging back in her doorway. She was still crying, though she looked like she was trying to stop, and Joe saw an ugly bruise on her right cheek that hadn't been there a few minutes earlier.

"What happened to Angelo?" Joe asked after a moment. "At least, I'm assuming that was Angelo."

"After he zapped you with that taser, he ran for the elevator," Iola replied. "That was only a few seconds ago. Maybe he hasn't gotten away yet." She grabbed her phone out of her pocket and instantly was tapping out a text to Ned, warning him to watch out for the suspect.

Joe stood up shakily. He turned to the woman and, hoping to alleviate her distress, he commented jokingly, "At least you don't have to worry about nosy neighbors around here."

The woman shrugged. "A bomb could go off in this place, and as long as their places weren't hurt, no one would come to check it out."

"I'm Joe Hardy," Joe continued. "This is Iola Morton. Are you Elizabeth Hart?"

The woman nodded slowly. "So, you didn't have the wrong apartment, then. Were you looking for me?"

"For your friend, actually," Joe told her. "The one with the taser."

Elizabeth paled. "He wasn't a friend."

"Your enemy, then," Joe said. "We had heard he was your boyfriend."

"I don't have a boyfriend," Elizabeth insisted. "And I don't know who that man was. He… He forced his way into my apartment and tried to attack me. He was holding me at gunpoint when you came. When you knocked at the door, he told me to answer it in case it was someone who would get suspicious."

Joe and Iola exchanged glanced.

"Gunpoint, huh?" Joe said. "Did something happen to his gun?"

"What?" Elizabeth looked confused. "No. Why?"

"I'm just certainly glad he decided to use his taser on me instead of his gun," Joe replied. "Although I have to say, I didn't see him holding any gun."

"Oh." Elizabeth looked nonplussed. "I meant that he used the taser to hold me. I just, at first, thought it was a gun."

"Do you know an Angelo Beretta?" Iola asked.

Elizabeth's face twitched uncomfortably as she hesitated. "Yes," she admitted finally.

"Was that him?" Joe asked.

"I already told you," Elizabeth responded with an unexpected flush of anger, "I didn't know that man. I've never seen him before. If that had been Angelo, I would have known him."

"Do you know where we can find Angelo?" Joe was certain that Elizabeth was lying, but he might as well test it.

"No," Elizabeth said abruptly. "I haven't talked to him for several weeks."

This was a difficult spot. Most likely, Angelo had been hiding out at his girlfriend's apartment ever since his run-in with Mario in the parking lot of his apartment building. Joe and the others must have interrupted a fight between them, and given the way Angelo had treated his brother, it didn't take much imagination to guess that he probably got violent with Elizabeth when they fought. In a moment of desperation, she asked Joe for help before things escalated any more, but now that that moment was over, she was trying to protect him. She was doing a pretty good job of it, too. Neither Joe nor Iola had gotten a good enough look at Angelo to make a positive identification, and Elizabeth's story would seem to clear him.

When the police arrived a few minutes later, after making a fruitless search of the premises, they found the same thing. They, too, believed that Elizabeth Hart was lying, but they had no way to disprove her story. The neighbors were no help in this, as they apparently kept so completely to themselves that most of them had no idea what Elizabeth's name was and had only seen her occasionally in passing. None of them could say whether she had a frequent visitor or had had a guest over the weekend, much less give a description of any such person. All the police could do was take statements from Joe, Iola, and Elizabeth and offer to call an ambulance for Joe, which he declined.

Ned and Iola were able, however, to convince him to go back to the hotel and rest for a while. When they reached the hallway outside the rooms they had taken the night before, Ned excused himself to go check on George's progress, leaving Joe and Iola alone in the hallway. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, although this time, the silence was very awkward.

Finally, however, Iola cleared her throat and braced herself. They were going to have to sort this out, and the sooner, the better. "You never answered my question," she said, keeping her voice as gentle as she could.

Joe swallowed. "I know."

Iola made an effort to speak as patiently as she could. "Joe, I need to know. Are you still in love with me?"

It took all of Joe's strength to retain some semblance of calmness. It had been such an emotional day. First, there had been his extreme nervousness at speaking with Terry Shanth, then his shock at Iola meeting him, and then his surprising exhilaration as he felt Terry's hold over him diminish. Then there had been his roller coaster of emotions toward Iola as he had struggled to come to terms with exactly how he did feel about her. Then, on top of that, there had been the developments in the case with the sabotage on Rachel Doving's airplane, the discovery and loss of Angelo Beretta, and then finally Joe's jolt from the taser.

"Joe, please. I have to know," Iola pleaded with him.

"I wish I could tell you," Joe said, tears starting in his eyes despite his best attempts to stop them. "I can't. I don't know."

Iola gave him an empathetic smile. "I guess having Tyler show up has been tough on you."

"It just…" Joe hesitated. "I still wish there was some way things could work out between us. Don't you ever wish that, a little?"

Iola looked away. She had to answer truthfully, and she had to answer without either hurting Joe any more than he clearly already was or giving him any false hope. As she thought about how horribly she had treated him only a little over a year ago and how completely he had forgiven her, her conscience stung her that she had fallen so completely for somebody else. Her voice was husky with emotion as she replied, "I used to wish that. I wished it for years, even before we started dating. But all the wishing in the world couldn't make it work. You and I are just too different. We want different things, have different goals, enjoy different things. We'd have to change and give up so much about ourselves that it wouldn't be fair to either of us. We were a classic case of opposites attracting. Maybe some people can work it out, but it would have broken us. It was breaking us." She paused and looked carefully at Joe's face. It bore a stricken look, but he was still clearly trying to be strong. A wave of guilt swept over her, and tears sprang into her own eyes. "I'm sorry, Joe. I don't want to hurt you. Not again. I…" Her voice trailed off. She didn't know what else to say.

"Do you love him?" Joe asked suddenly. "Tyler, I mean."

"Yes," Iola said.

"Are you happy with him?"

"I never remember being so happy as I have been the last few months. The only way I could be happier is if I knew you were happy."

Joe smiled a little, and to Iola's surprise, it didn't look forced. "Then don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"I wish I could help you," Iola said. "But I guess I'm the one person who can't. I hope you can find someone else who can."

Joe almost resisted the temptation, but then the words came out. "I'll never find anyone like you."

"Good," Iola replied, "because you deserve someone so much better." Then she surprised him by reaching out and wrapping him in hug. As she pulled away again, she said, "I should get home. Get some sleep. Don't worry about the thing with Chet. You've got enough to think about already."

Joe nodded numbly. Finally, he forced his dry lips to say, "Good-bye." Then he retreated into his room and closed the door. As he heard the lock click shut, it seemed to him to be the sound of his last thread of hope breaking. He stumbled to his bed and practically fell onto it as the tears that had been threatening began to spill over.

HBNDHBND

 _November 29 – Rome_

It was strange how much better Frank and Callie felt after they had talked their problems over with Fenton and Laura. They still didn't know what the solution to their dilemma was, other than that it wouldn't be easy for either of them. But it was a comfort to know that Frank's parents had faced the same problems and had found a way to overcome them together. Frank and Callie could do the same.

"Do you think it could be twins?" Callie asked as she sat next to Frank on the loveseat that evening with her head resting on his shoulder. They still hadn't gone out all day, but that had been all right. They needed some time to recover.

Frank smiled softly. "Wouldn't that be something. What would be best: two boys, two girls, or one of each?"

"Any of those," Callie replied. "Or just one boy or just one girl. I still can't quite believe it. I keep thinking the test must have been wrong."

"It better not have been," Frank said.

"Frank," Callie said, sitting up suddenly, "I know we're both sick of talking about this, but I want to stay home when we go for Christmas, even if we weren't in any danger. It's going to be so overwhelming when the baby comes, and I think it will be easier for us both if our families are there."

"That's fine," Frank assured her. "It will be easier. It's a big change in plans, but that'll be okay. We'll probably have to stay with your parents or mine until we can find a house or an apartment."

"Let's make it a house," Callie said. "We have enough money saved up that we could start making payments. Even though I love our flat here, a house feels more like a home, especially now that we're starting our family."

"Okay," Frank agreed. "Maybe we can get one close to parents' places. It would be nice to be close to them again."

Callie giggled. "They might not know what to do with us being so close to them after being on the other side of the world for so long."

Frank chuckled, but he didn't reply. He knew that Callie was joking, and that, in reality, Fenton and Laura and the Shaws, who lived just down the street from each other, would be delighted to have Frank and Callie in the neighborhood, especially with a grandchild on the way.

In the moment of quiet in which he was thinking this, his sharp ears caught a noise in the kitchen that sounded like a footstep. Instantly, he was on the alert.

Callie saw him stiffen and was opening her mouth to ask him what was wrong when Frank held a finger to his lips to signal her to be quiet. Then he stood up and tiptoed noiselessly to the kitchen door, which he pushed open an inch. There was no one inside. If anyone had been there, they must have heard him and been frightened away.

 _Or else they meant to leave in a hurry_ , Frank thought in alarm as he noticed a box on the counter that hadn't been there before. He covered the distance to it in two steps and began to examine it. It only took him a moment to realize what it was.

"Where did that come from?" Callie asked. She had followed him to the doorway.

"Callie, go downstairs and outside," Frank told her, trying to speak as calmly as he could.

The color drained from Callie's face. "Is it a bomb?"

"Yes," Frank told her. "You've got to get out of here."

"Aren't you coming?" Callie asked.

"I've got to disarm it," Frank replied. "I don't know how powerful it is. If it goes off, it might destroy the entire building."


	18. Chapter 17: Disaster Averted

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Caranath, Candylou, Highflyer, Cherylann Rivers, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, and RadiantEyes for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XVII

Disaster Averted

 _November 29 – Queens_

"Are you okay?" Ned asked. As he was driving Iola back to where they had left her car, he couldn't help noticing that she was continually wiping tears from her eyes. Knowing some of her and Joe's history, he wondered what had happened when the two had said good-bye.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Iola turned to look out the window. It was going to be a long drive back to Bayport, the way she felt.

"It was nice of you to drive up here for Joe," Ned commented.

"Well, Joe's always been there for me – always." Iola swallowed hard to try to clear the lump in her throat. "I haven't… I guess you probably know the whole story about what happened with Emily Jacobs and Rhonda Marrow and what I did. Of course, you do. You were there for part of it. I just… I didn't know if you knew what happened between Joe and me."

"I know," Ned replied.

"Then I guess you know that I hurt him more than Terry Shanth ever could have." Iola's voice broke as she admitted it. "And you know what? He doesn't hate me for it. He's forgiven me, and I'm afraid he's still a little bit in love with me. I don't what I'm going to do."

Ned shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure what to say. After a few moments, he decided to give it to Iola straight. "It seems pretty clear to me what you need to do. You're dating someone else now, right? Who would you rather spend the rest of your life with: him or Joe?"

"Tyler," Iola said without missing a beat. "I know that, and I know that I can't go back to Joe. It wouldn't be fair to any of us: Joe, Tyler, or me. If that happened, I would only be with him because of guilt."

Ned nodded. "That sounds like a reasonable way to look at all of this. I know it's rough, but there's not really anything you can do for Joe at the moment. You don't need to worry about him, though. He'll be okay."

"How can you be so sure?"

"It doesn't feel like it at the time, but broken hearts do heal."

"You sound like you're talking from experience."

"Yeah, but not my own." Ned reflected on how blessed he had been throughout his life. He had met his dream girl as a teenager, and they had married young. In all the nine years they had been together, they had had very few bumps in their relationship. Now they had their beautiful daughter. Of course, this perfect life had nearly been destroyed several times, with last Friday being the most recent. Still, Ned tended to be an optimist, and he focused more on how fortunate he was rather than on what might have happened.

Nevertheless, he realized fully well that none of the people closest to him had managed to escape heartbreak so well. His parents, who had wanted a large family, had struggled to have children and had suffered several miscarriages before he had been born. Nancy and her dad had had to survive the sudden loss of Nancy's mother, Kate, forcing Carson to raise Nancy alone and without the woman he had thought he would have a lifetime with and Nancy to grow up with her mother as only a distant memory. Yet all of them had healed, and they were the strongest people Ned knew.

"I hope it's true," Iola said, breaking in on his thoughts. "I really want Joe to be happy."

"He will be," Ned replied, "but he needs time and to come to terms with what's happened."

There was a lull in the conversation. Then Iola, who felt that it was time for a change in subject, commented, "So, I hear your daughter is pretty adorable."

Ned smiled, his entire face brightening. "She's the most adorable little girl ever, if I do say so myself. I should show you some pictures of her."

"Not while you're driving," Iola said hastily. "Her name's Marian?"

"Marian Katherine," Ned confirmed.

"That's a name you don't hear very often. How did you pick it?"

"Nancy picked it, actually," Ned told her. "You see, her mother was pregnant when she died. It was a girl, and Kate apparently really loved the name Marian, because she wanted to name her that. Nancy always had a hard time not being able to grow up with a sister, so she wanted to name our daughter Marian in honor of the one she never got to meet. And then Katherine, of course, is for her mom." He paused before he went on with a hint of joking in his tone, "We're not going to name any more kids after anybody, though."

"Why's that?" Iola asked.

"Because my mom's name is Edith."

Iola grinned. "Well, that is a good point."

"We made an exception in this first case," Ned continued, "and I think everyone can understand that. But from now on, we're just going to name our kids whatever we name them because we happen to like those names."

It wasn't long before they reached Iola's parked car.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right driving all the way back by yourself?" Ned asked as Iola opened the door.

"I'll be fine. Thanks," Iola replied. She was about to get into her car when she noticed a piece of paper stuck underneath the driver side windshield wiper. She pulled it out and as she read what was written on it, her eyes widened with alarm. "Uh, Ned, you'd better see this."

HBNDHBND

 _November 29 – Rome_

"Callie, go," Frank pleaded even as he was beginning to examine the box on the kitchen counter.

Callie hesitated, her heart hammering with fear as she watched her husband look at the object he had pronounced to be a bomb. "Not without you. You don't have to disarm it. If we just told the other people in the building…"

"There's no time," Frank told her. At least, he had to assume there wasn't. The bomb had no visible timer on it, it wasn't ticking, and it had not message of any kind. It had been left to kill them, not merely to scare them. In that case, it was probably set to go off any second, before he or Callie would have had a chance to discover it and escape. Even as it was, the chances of them having time to get to the ground floor, especially if they stopped to warn people on the way out, were nil. Their best chance by far was for Frank to try to disarm it. It wasn't a bad chance, since the bomb most likely would not have all the safety devices to prevent it being disarmed that one that was to be left there for any length of time before it exploded would have. If it was just an ordinary bomb, Frank had been trained in how to disarm it. Still, he would feel better if Callie was as far away from the room as possible. In case he wasn't successful, the farther away she was, the greater her chances of surviving.

Callie didn't move, though. She stood rigid, watching her husband work with large, frightened eyes. Frank didn't repeat his warning. By now, any progress she might be convinced to make would be far less valuable than the time Frank would be wasting in trying to convince her.

Carefully but quickly, he pulled the lid off the box. It was just as he thought: a simple bomb. There were three sticks of dynamite attached to a blasting cap with a digital timer. The timer showed that his other suspicion was right: there were only twenty-eight seconds left.

Forcing himself to stay calm, he reached for a drawer where he kept several tools, such as a hammer, screw driver, and wire cutters. He grabbed a needle-nosed pliers and the wire cutters. Using the former, he took hold of the wire that was connecting the timer to the blasting cap and then snipped it with the wire cutters, being careful not to let the loose end touch anything. Then he removed the blasting cap, snipping the wires that attached it to the explosives. He froze for several tense moments, but when nothing happened, he relaxed.

Callie saw his relief and let out a long breath as she sank slowly against the doorway. Then she ran toward Frank and threw her arms around him, alternately laughing and crying with relief.

Frank returned the hug. "You stayed. Why didn't you run?"

"I couldn't leave you," Callie murmured.

"Thank goodness the bomb wasn't any more sophisticated," Frank said. "I couldn't have disarmed it in time if it had been."

They held each other for a long time, before finally Frank shook himself and said that they needed to call the police. This was soon done, and the police arrived a few minutes later. Callie, whose Italian was better than Frank's, explained the situation to them. Then they began their examination of the bomb and the kitchen.

About half an hour later, while the investigation was still in progress, Edmund Wight appeared on the scene. Frank frowned when he saw him. What was he doing here?

"I came as soon as I heard," Wight explained.

"I didn't realize they were broadcasting our problems for anyone to hear about," Frank commented stiffly.

"Hardly," Wight returned. "I have some connections with the police, you know. That's how I heard. This is what I was afraid of."

"You knew this was going to happen?" asked Callie, who was still clinging to Frank.

"As your husband could tell you, I've been concerned that something of the sort might," Wight replied. "I understand you disarmed the bomb yourself, Hardy."

Frank nodded. "It was a simple bomb. They must have meant for it to go off before we found it and tried to disarm it."

"That was probably part of it," Wight agreed. "If it is the human traffickers, they probably wanted it to look like an amateur bomb. They less they're tied to anything like this, the less likely they are to be caught."

"Just because I stopped that one in the park?" Frank asked.

"It looks that way," Wight told him. "Like I said before, they probably don't believe that that was only a coincidence."

"But the bomb didn't go off," Callie pointed out. "That means they'll try again."

Wight nodded. "Hardy, whether you meant to be or not, you're in this now. You and your wife both. You're going to have to take extreme precautions now."

Frank sighed. Whether Wight was trustworthy or not, he was right about this. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"I do," Wight replied. "There's a safe house I can take you both to, if you want. You can stay there as long as you like, or if you would rather, we can get you both back to the States safely. Once you're there, though, it will only be a matter of time before they find you again."

Frank looked at Callie, and then back at Wight. "We'll need a couple of minutes to talk about this."

Wight agreed, and Frank led Callie a few paces away. Once there, they dropped their voices to a whisper.

"There's something odd about Wight," Frank told his wife. "I don't entirely trust him."

"Then what are we going to do?" Callie asked.

Frank thought for a few moments. There was no way that he could get to a safe house by himself, but if Wight had ulterior motives in offering the safe house, they would undoubtedly be walking straight into a trap. On the other hand, if they didn't go, they would have no protection against another attack. He took a deep breath as he made his decision.

"I think we should go with him, but I have an idea to keep him from trying anything."


	19. Chapter 18: All Roads Lead to Rome

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you all so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Cherylann Rivers, Caranath, Candylou, BMSH, Highflyer, max2013, and EvergreenDreamweaver for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XVIII

All Roads Lead to Rome

 _November 29 – New York_

Joe lay on his back on his hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. He was supposed to be taking a nap, but he hadn't bothered to take off either his coat or his shoes, and he was in a very uncomfortable position. He felt numb all over.

At times like these, he would usually talk to Nancy. It was easier to talk to her about feelings and emotions than it was Frank or even his parents. But she wasn't allowed phone calls yet, and even if she was, it would hardly be fair to ask her to be his emotional support right now. Frank wasn't here, and from the sounds of it, he was too preoccupied with a gang of killers being after him and Callie to worry about Joe's problems. For that matter, Joe's problems would look pretty tame in comparison to Frank's for his parents, too. He had friends, of course, but none of them were around here, and besides, Biff and Tony and the rest of them weren't exactly the type of friends that he would go complaining to about this. Maybe later, when he could talk about it without crying. For now, though, he was on his own.

Something had to change. He couldn't keep on feeling this way forever, especially now, since there was no chance left for him and Iola. It would have to stop hurting sometime. He found himself praying that it would stop, or at least that something – anything – would distract him from it for a little while.

As if in answer to his prayer, his phone rang. Joe looked at the screen dully, not sure whether he'd answer it or not. Maybe he didn't want to talk to anyone right now, after all. He saw that it was Frank, and something inside him told him to answer it.

"Hi, Frank," he said into the phone, his tone flat.

Frank's voice, however, was unusually shaken when he replied without preamble, "Joe, Dad said he was going to ask you to fly over here. Have you gotten a flight yet?"

"I've been looking all day," Joe said. "No luck so far."

"Keep looking," Frank pleaded with him. "I know you're trying to help Nancy, but Callie and I really need you over here. Someone tried to kill us a little while ago."

Joe sat up straight on his bed, his own problems paling. When he had asked for a distraction, he hadn't had anything so drastic in mind. "Are you okay?"

"We're fine," Frank assured him. "Someone set a bomb in our apartment, but I disarmed it in time."

"Thank goodness Dad insisted on us getting trained in that," Joe commented. Then another thought struck him. "Another bomb? You don't suppose this is related to what happened to Nancy?"

"I don't think so," Frank said. "I think it's this kidnapping case I'm on. Whoever it is will probably try again, and I don't think they'll fail this time. Callie and I need to get to a safe place. I'd like to send Callie home, but I have to find Giada Barzetti and the people who tried to kill my wife, and Callie won't go without me." He paused suddenly. "Do you think that's wrong?"

"To want to rescue a kidnapped little girl and stop a bunch of killers?" Joe asked. "No. What would make you think a thing like that?"

"Shouldn't my first concern be protecting my wife and…" Frank stopped himself. Joe didn't know about the baby yet, but more than that, Frank didn't want to mention it over the phone again. There could be someone listening in, and these people didn't need any more leverage against him. Of course, they might have already heard when he and Callie were talking to Fenton and Laura, but on the chance that conversation had remained private, there was no sense taking additional chances.

The cut off sentence wasn't lost on Joe, but he thought it better not to ask. "Yes, that should be your first concern. But if there's someone trying to hurt her, don't you think stopping them would be the best way to protect her?"

"But what if I can't?" The bomb had renewed Callie's fears and given credence to them in Frank's eye. "You know there's going to be some case, sometime, that we don't solve and we don't all walk away from. What if this is it?"

"It will be if you give up," Joe told him. "What's the deal here, Frank? You not sounding like you."

Frank sighed. "It's a… We'll talk about it when you get here. Anyway, about what I need you to do. I need to get Callie someplace safe, and since going home isn't an option right now, we're going to have to find someplace here. There's a private detective here, Edmund Wight. He's offering us a safe house, and I think it's our only option. The problem is I don't totally trust him, and we might not be any safer in his safe house. I want you to know where this safe house is and to call Callie twice a day to make sure she's really there and is all right. Then, as soon as you know she's safe, you're going to check in with the police here. If you or she misses a check-in, the police will immediately arrest Wight and raid the safe house. This is the safest way I can figure out to do this."

"Okay," Joe said slowly, trying to grasp exactly what was so safe about this plan. "Where are you going to be?"

"Either with Callie or you. Whichever it is, you two need to be the ones handling the check-ins, since it will be one of you two who will be by yourself."

"Okay, that makes sense," Joe admitted. "But what happens if Wight just murders both you and Callie instead of taking you to a safe house, and then meets my plane and does me in, and then skips before the police have a chance to get him?"

"We have to do something," Frank said. "It's not foolproof. Nothing we could do is. I don't trust Wight, but I don't think he's in with the kidnappers. There was a girl he tried to rescue, and he wasn't in time. He could have been acting, I guess, but I think he was genuinely affected by it. I don't know what his game is and I'm sure he's not what he says, but I don't think he's an enemy."

"All right." Joe was still skeptical, but Frank was right that he and Callie had to do something. "Call me as soon as you're at this safe house. I'll get there somehow, even if I have to find somebody to bribe into giving up their seat so I can take it."

He hung up and sat lost in thought for a few seconds before he frantically renewed his search for a seat on a plane to Italy. Several minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and Ned and George came in. Ned was holding a piece of paper in his hand.

"I think you'd better see this, Joe," Ned told him. "Iola found it on the windshield of her car.

The mention of the name reminded Joe again of his troubles, but he resolutely elected to ignore them for the moment. He held out his hand to take the paper and read it. The letters were crude, block letters and formed the words:

 _Tell the Hardy brothers to forget about Nancy Drew's accident if they know what's good for them._

"What do you make of it?" Ned asked.

Joe furrowed his brow. "Well, the most obvious possibility is that Walt Carril wrote it, wanting to get us off his trail."

"What's a less obvious possibility?" George asked when Joe didn't continue.

"It's very specifically about Frank and me," Joe mused. "Which is weird. Why threaten Frank about investigating Nancy's case when he's not but you two are?"

"It's not exactly normal for you to be investigating a case that Frank doesn't at least take an interest in," George told him, "especially when it has to do with Nancy. Maybe they just assumed Frank was working on it, too, and maybe they're not particularly worried about me and Ned because we don't quite have the Hardy or Drew status."

"It's possible," Joe agreed, "but think for a minute, George. Suppose you were a crook and Frank and I were investigating a crime you had committed. Obviously, you want us off your trail. What do you do?"

George shrugged. "I don't know. I guess try to put you on a false trail."

"Like threaten us but make it sound like it's regarding another case we're working on?" Joe suggested. "The only problem is that you might not get the details right."

"So you think this is about another case?" Ned asked.

"I think so," Joe replied. "Either way, though. I've got to get to Rome. Frank and Callie are in danger."

"Then you'd better go," Ned agreed, although it disappointed him that Joe wouldn't be able to help with Nancy's case any longer. It would definitely make things a lot harder.

"In that case, it's a good thing I made a couple breakthroughs in the last half hour," George declared suddenly. "I hacked into the passenger lists for a couple of flights to Rome and…"

"George, you can't hack into airline passenger lists," Ned protested.

George gave him an offended look. "I can hack into anything."

"I mean, you shouldn't," Ned amended his statement.

George shrugged. "Whatever. I did, though, and guess who's taking a plane to Rome tonight."

"Me, hopefully," Joe said.

"Actually, yes, almost," George replied. "I thought I'd help you out on that one, so I set up an algorithm on my laptop to search for flights and notify me immediately if any seats became available. I've got two seats on a flight from JFK to Dulles International Airport in Washington, D.C. to Rome, Italy that leaves at six in the morning tomorrow. We'll have to head for the airport early."

Joe raised an eyebrow in displeasure. "We? Why we?"

"Because of what I found on that passenger list that I wasn't supposed to hack into," George told him. "There are three people who are on their way to Rome that I think you'll be pretty interested in."

"Who?" Joe asked, wishing George would just get to the point.

George grinned proudly. "Walt Carril, Angelo Beretta, and Tory Juniper."

Joe stared at her. "They're all going to Rome tonight?"

"On different flights," George clarified. "Tory's actually going sometime tomorrow. Anyway, it looks like in these cases all roads lead to Rome."


	20. Chapter 19: Flight

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Caranath, Candylou, Cherylann Rivers, Highflyer, and BMSH for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XIX

Flight

 _November 29 – Outside Rome_

Frank and Callie watched the darkened countryside pass by the windows of the car as they were driven along to the safe house Edmund Wight had offered them. They were seated in the back of his car, nervously holding hands, while Frank used his free hand to write down every turn they made and how long it was between turns, as well as the names of roads. Wight, however, was calm and cool. He had tried at first to keep up a conversation, but as he got few responses out of his passengers, he eventually turned on some quiet music and drove on without saying much.

It was an agonizing ride for Callie, but even more so for Frank, who was second-guessing himself every few seconds. He was taking a risk, letting Wight bring him and Callie here. He would have never agreed to it if it hadn't been for the fact that it would have been an even greater risk to remain in Rome. This was a calculated risk, at least. For one thing, there was his safety net with Joe, which Wight knew about and would hopefully deter him from trying anything in the first place. Of course, it could backfire and put Joe in danger, but Frank had a feeling that Wight wouldn't jeopardize his standing with the police that way.

Besides that, Frank didn't believe that Wight was involved with the kidnappers. He seemed far too sincere in his hatred toward them and his desire to help their victims. In fact, if it hadn't been for Frank's bizarre first impression of him, where Wight had appeared to know everything about Frank, he probably would distrust him at all.

Callie was huddled close to Frank. She was tired, but she couldn't fall asleep. She knew that for the sake of her baby, she needed to relax, but there were too many concerns and questions gnawing at her mind for that. She hoped with every fiber of her being that Wight was doing as he said and taking them to a safe house and that maybe she and Frank would be out of danger for a little while at least.

"Mr. Wight," she spoke up finally.

"Yes?" Wight asked.

"Why are you taking such an interest in us?" Callie asked.

"I have a debt to repay," Wight replied.

Frank stiffened. He had heard that exact sentence numerous times from criminals who had come back to take revenge on him and Joe or their dad. Wight wasn't familiar to any of them, but he could be using a false identity. In fact, that could even explain why Wight had apparently disappeared off the face of the earth several years earlier. Perhaps he had been murdered and an imposter had taken his place.

"What debt is that?" Frank asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep his tone even.

Wight chuckled at the suspicion that he heard in Frank's voice. "Not the sort of debt you're thinking of. Do you remember, a number of years ago, the case you and your brother solved in the Huellas?"*

"Yes," Frank replied. "Were you involved in that?"

"Hardly," Wight said. "But my wife was."

"I didn't know you were married," Frank commented, thinking how Wight's flat had given no indication of having a second occupant.

"Few people do," Wight replied. "I like to keep it quiet, for my wife's safety. She's from the Huellas, you see. She took part in the rebellion there, and was one of the people whose names were nearly betrayed to the authorities, though fortunately you and your brother prevented that. You undoubtedly saved her life, and for that I am grateful."

"Hmm," was all Frank commented.

"So, you see, I didn't tell you the whole truth for my interest in your career when you asked before," Wight continued. "It's because of my wife's history that I've taken such an interest in fighting government corruption. That, in turn, is how I learned about this human trafficking problem. My wife introduced me to the organization I am with now, which offered the people of her country some aid in their distress."

"And what organization is that?" Frank asked.

"The Order of Christ, Freer of Slaves," Wight responded.

"A religious organization?" Frank raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Yes, indeed," Wight told him. "You'll see in a little while. We're almost there."

In about twenty minutes, Wight pulled his car up to a gate in a high wall. Peering out the window, Callie could see the top of a steeple above the wall. Wight got out and spoke to someone at the gate for a moment before it was opened and Wight drove his car through. Frank and Callie looked at each other in surprise when they saw that the person who had opened the gate was a nun in a full habit.

"Here we are," Wight said as an invitation for his passengers to get out of the car.

The Hardys slowly did so, and Wight introduced them to the nun, whose name was Sister Clara. Fortunately, she spoke English well enough.

"You can stay with the sisters here as long as you like," Wight explained. "If you need anything while you're here, you only need to ask."

"I don't… exactly… understand," Frank stammered, as the safe house being a monastery of nuns was the last thing he had expected.

"It's part of the mission of our order to help people who are in danger from human traffickers," Sister Clara explained. "We were founded in the 1600's for that reason: to help those captured by pirates or slave traders."

"Are you sure we're safe here?" Frank asked.

"Very," Wight assured him. "These villains we're dealing with would never try anything so bold as sneaking in here. They would be noticed at once. There's a very good security system of cameras and alarms all around the wall, and because electronics can be hacked, there are also four large dogs who patrol the grounds. That is, of course, if these people would think to look in here at all. The Sisters' active involvement in all of this is a well-kept secret."

"And where do you fit in all this?" Frank inquired of Wight.

"Like many religious orders, this one has lay affiliates," Wight explained. "My wife and I are both part of that."

"I'll show you to the guest quarters now," Sister Clara told Frank and Callie.

The Hardys glanced at one another in confusion one more time, still surprised by the unexpected nature of the safe house. Nevertheless, the only thing to do at this point was to follow her.

HBNDHBND

 _November 30 – Over the Atlantic Ocean_

Joe leaned back in his seat on the plane, half-asleep. He and George had had to be at the airport early, but even more than that, Joe hadn't been able to get to sleep the night before from thinking everything over. Flying, however, always made him drowsy, and so he began to nod off.

The biggest problem at the moment was George. She, evidently, wasn't tired at all, and was feeling antsy without being able to work on anything while she was in the air. Because they had booked their tickets so late, they weren't assigned to seats next to each, but George was in the row ahead of Joe and kept turning around to talk to him. Finally, the woman who was sitting next to George and who seemed annoyed at George's constant turning around, offered to switch seat with Joe, and so they could talk more easily. From then on, the entire trip was a constant stream of chatter that, try as he would, Joe couldn't focus on as he kept dozing off.

"Do you think it would be better if we split up or stayed together once we get there?" George asked. When Joe didn't answer, she prodded him with her elbow and repeated her question.

"Oh, I don't know," Joe groaned. He did know perfectly well that staying together was always the better plan when walking into danger, but at the moment, he would rather take the risk of splitting up than be tied to George one minute longer than he had to.

"We could cover more ground split up," George mused. "It's too bad Nancy isn't here. She always has a plan. I guess Frank will probably have some ideas. You know, I've never worked with just you and Frank before." If Joe had had his eyes open, he would have noticed a slight smile tug at her lips, which was quickly replaced by a gloomy expression.

"Mm-hmm," Joe responded automatically, his consciousness fading into sleep.

"Of course, I haven't even worked with Nancy much in a long time," George went on, not noticing the loss of her audience. "Not since she got married. And Bess hasn't had much time to do anything since she and Dave got married, too. What is it about marriage that makes people so busy?"

"The bridge," Joe mumbled in his sleep.

"What?" George asked before she realized that Joe had dropped off. She sighed and folded her arms. She had lost track of how many times she had woken him up already; it was probably about time to give up trying to talk to him. She stared off into the distance, losing herself in thought, as her mind drifted from the various cases to other concerns.

The plane was far out over the middle of the Atlantic by the time Joe awoke. He wished he could stretch, but other than that, he felt refreshed.

George glanced at him and asked dryly, "Did you have a nice nap, Sleeping Beauty?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "You know, it's not a character flaw to be tired."

"Maybe not," George conceded, "but we have to get our plans made for when we get to Rome, and you've wasted a ton of time now."

"Why are you so insistent about this?" Joe asked. "We can't really make any definite plans until we know the whole situation and have the territory scouted out. We'll try to find out where Carril, Angelo, and Tory went, meet up with Frank, and figure it out from there."

George folded her arms. "We've got to do something for the rest of this flight. I'm going to lose it just sitting here any longer."

Joe leaned forward and pulled his carry-on bag from under the seat. He rummaged around in it for a minute and then pulled out a rumpled comic which he handed to George. "I've been carrying that around, planning on reading it for a while now. Tell me if it's worth bothering with when you're done."

"Oh, thanks." George looked at the cover with obvious disdain. "You don't have anything more… intelligent to read?"

Joe shrugged. "Reading's not really my thing, honestly, and I don't have a lot of time for it, anyway. When I do bother to read something, why not read something I enjoy?"

"I guess maybe you've got a point there. As for me, though, comics aren't my thing at all." George handed the book back.

"Really? I thought you would like stuff like that. Just don't tell me you like Jane Austen or anything like that. That would ruin all my illusions."

George snickered. "You don't have to worry about anything like that. I had to read _Pride and Prejudice_ in high school, and I promised myself never again."

"Actually, that one wasn't bad," Joe said.

"This is almost as bad as talking to Bess." George shook her head.

The two of them fell silent for several minutes. Joe, with nothing else to do, opened the comic and began to read. George sighed and lost herself in thought again, her own troubles rearing up in her mind as she tried to think through them.

*Referring to _Footprints Under the Window_


	21. Chapter 20: When in Rome

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you most of all to max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, Highflyer, RadiantEyes, Caranath, and Candylou for your reviews since I posted the last chapter! The story is in its final act now, and a few of the cases are going to begin to be wrapped up within the next few chapters._

Chapter XX

When in Rome…

 _November 30 – River Heights_

Nancy was sitting up in bed, dangling one foot off it. She wasn't supposed to get up, but she was tempted to try it anyway. She was so tired of lying around in bed all day. Not only was it boring, but it also made her feel lazy and flabby. Just standing up for a few minutes would feel so much nicer.

But she stopped herself. She was determined to be recovered and out of this hospital as soon as possible. If that meant a few days more of this unspeakably dull existence, then so be it. She pulled her foot back up on the bed with a defeated sigh and settled back. There was nothing else to do, so she switched on the TV and tried to find a channel that was showing something interesting.

The local news was still running stories on the bomb and its aftermath. Nancy instantly changed the channel, her thoughts racing back to those horrible minutes she had spent in the fire. Then she forced herself to think more rationally. The news might report on some of the police's findings and may possibly give her a clue. Between that and whatever reports Vanessa and Nancy's dad would bring her later when they came to visit her, maybe she could start making some progress on this puzzle.

The news report showed footage of the smoking ruins of Carl McGregor's store. Nancy shuddered, thinking how close she had been… But she wouldn't think about that now. A blonde reporter, Theresa Davens, appeared on the screen, recounting some details of the incident, most of which Nancy was already aware of.

The next thing the young woman said was, "Nancy Drew Nickerson, River Heights' beloved private detective, who was injured in the explosion is still unavailable for comment on the shocking incident."

"'Beloved detective'," Nancy repeated in amusement. Usually the media was not so flattering toward her, especially since she had corrected a number of their reports that had failed in their mission to report all the facts unbiasedly.

"However," Theresa was continuing, "our own Chief of Police McGinnis has offered a statement on the incident." The screen changed to show Chief McGinnis in his office, seated at his desk. "What efforts have been made to locate the people responsible for this crime?" the reporter asked him.

"I have been investigating the case myself, as well as putting my best detectives on it." From how tired the chief looked, Nancy had no doubt that he was telling the truth. "We have identified several persons of interest in the case, and we're currently working on questioning them, as well as witnesses, and investigating the backgrounds of everyone who had access to that warehouse."

"Social media has stated that this should be considered an act of terrorism," Theresa said. "Why have the police declined to make a statement on this?"

"So far, all evidence points to the idea that this was an act of sabotage directed specifically toward this particular business," McGinnis explained. "Before we would declare it…"

The reporter cut him off. "Is it because you have already located a suspect who does not fit the typical narrative of a terrorist?"

McGinnis's frown deepened. "No. We have no definite suspect as of the moment, but when we do, it will be the motive of the crime rather than the identity of the suspect that will determine how this crime will be classified."

"Some have suggested that the culprit may be none other than River Heights' girl detective, Nancy Drew Nickerson," Theresa said bluntly.

"So much for 'beloved detective'," Nancy muttered as she saw Chief McGinnis make a move to stand up. McGinnis decided against it in time, but his voice was tight when he responded.

"Ms. Nickerson is not a person of interest in this case. She had no motive or opportunity and, moreover, is one of the victims of the incident. I would advise you, Ms. Davens, to refrain from making such libelous statements and to stick to reporting facts."

If the chief's suggestion made any impression on Theresa at all, she didn't show it. Instead, she continued, "Is it true that you are a personal friend of Ms. Nickerson, as well as her father, the attorney, Carson Drew?"

"That's true," McGinnis admitted.

"In that case, could your friendship with her be blurring your judgment of Ms. Nickerson's possible guilt?"

An angry expression flitted across the chief's face for a fraction of a second. "No. If there was any indication that it was even plausible that Ms. Nickerson was involved, my friendship with her and her family would not keep me from investigating it. As it is, she had a legitimate reason for being on the premises. What's more, witnesses have verified that she and her husband were in that warehouse for barely fifteen minutes and that neither of them carried anything inside. She had no opportunity to plant the explosives, even if she would have had a motive to do so. Even more than that, it would have been impossible for Ms. Nickerson, who has no background in explosives, to plant this bomb, which was a sophisticated type that could have only been made by a professional. All of that is more than sufficient to clear her, especially when her record and reputation as a professional and dedicated detective are taken into account."

Nancy couldn't help but smile a little. It wasn't the first time the local news had tried to slander her name, and she appreciated McGinnis's defense of her. It was nice to know that she still had friends among the town officials. More than that, though, she had picked up a couple of clues in McGinnis's answer. The police had other suspects besides Carril, and the bomb had been planted by a professional. Depending on what Vanessa learned about Carril's background, this new might clear him entirely.

HBNDHBND

 _November 30 – Outside Rome_

Callie was awakened at six that morning by bells ringing. Frank was already up, and Callie could hear him in the shower in the bathroom adjoining the small bedroom. The nuns' guest quarters were small, but they were also comfortable and homey. Callie hadn't expected to get a minute's sleep that night, with all her worries, but somehow she had managed to sleep and was now more refreshed than she had been in several days.

She thought with a pang of disappointment about the classes she was missing, but she realized it couldn't be helped. It seemed a shame to be so close to finishing her degree and have to lose her chance now. Still, she repeated to herself, it couldn't be helped.

By the time she was getting up, Frank was coming out of the bathroom. "Good morning, honey," he greeted her, and then added a kiss. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I have been feeling," Callie told him. "Although I don't think I'll be able to make breakfast."

"Don't worry about that," Frank assured her. "Sister Clara said that the nuns would make us breakfast. It'll be ready at seven."

"I guess I could have slept longer, then." Callie yawned. "I don't think I could get back to sleep, though."

"Then could we talk?" Frank asked. "I don't want to upset you, but we have to make a decision as soon as possible."

"About the case?"

"About the case." Frank bit his lip. "Callie, I love you more than anything. I hate the idea of hurting you or putting you in danger. We still have time to talk about the long term and what we're going to do. I'm not even sure we can get out of the predicament we're in now. Hopefully, we'll know that soon. Whatever happens, though, it doesn't change the fact that there's a little girl out there who's in danger. She's been gone so long now, there's a good chance it's too late already. If it is, it's on me. I promised to look for her, and I've done next to nothing. Please, Callie, I've got to solve this case. We can talk about future cases and deal with them as they come, but this one…" His voice trailed off.

Callie put her arms around him. "I know," she said in a choking voice. "I know. I'm so confused right now. I don't know what I really want, except that I want you." She took a deep breath. "And part of you is that you always put other people first. Like that bomb, when you stayed back to disarm it instead of trying to run because there were other people in the building. I know you can't give this case up, and I won't ask you to again. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Don't go anywhere alone. Now that Joe's coming, you two always do better together. Don't split up."

"We won't," Frank promised, holding her tightly.

HBNDHBND

 _November 30 – Rome_

Several hours later, Frank was at the airport to meet Joe and George. They were both tired from the long journey, and since it was late anyway, Frank decided the best course of action would be to take them back to the monastery, where he had secured permission for them to stay that night. On the way, he explained the facts of the case so far, and Joe and George listened with interest.

"A religious order dedicated to stopping human traffickers," Joe commented. "That is seriously pretty cool."

Then he told Frank about the cases he was working on. They decided that the next day, they would try to trace Walt Carril, Angelo Beretta, and Tory Juniper from the various airports that they had landed in. Frank and Joe would attempt to find out if any of them had taken a cab, and if so, where they had gone. Meanwhile, George would work on determining whether any of them had made reservations at any hotels in the city. Frank and Joe's part of it would take no more than an hour. If they found a lead, they would try to trace it, but wouldn't spend more than another hour on it. After that, they would spend the rest of the day focusing on the more pressing case: Giada Barzetti. Their plan there was to question the girl's parents and learn about any relatives or friends of the family who might be behind Giada's disappearance. With no definite suspects and no way to trace the gang Wight had told Frank about, it was the best thing they could do.

Sister Clara met them at the gates of the monastery and welcomed Joe and George warmly. They were each given a separate apartment. George immediately headed for bed, but Joe went to say hello to Callie first.

Joe could sense that something was up with his brother and sister-in-law immediately. He looked questioningly from one to the other, and then finally asked, "Okay, you two. What's going on?"

The couple traded glances, and Callie nodded with a smile and a blush.

Frank cleared his throat. "We have some great news. We're expecting."

"That's fantastic!" Joe burst out. He hugged Frank first, since he was closest, and then he picked Callie up and whirled around with. "That's great! How long have you guys known? When's the baby due? Am I the first one you told? What are you going to name it?"

Frank and Callie laughed, realizing it was the first time they had laughed so genuinely in days and that it was a huge relief.

"One question at a time!" Callie told him. "We've only known for a few days."

"Mom and Dad know, but they're the only other ones we've told so far," Frank said. "It's early enough that we'd rather a little longer before the whole world knows. We'll tell Callie's parents sometime in the next few days, but that will be it until we're ready to make the big announcement."

"I must really rate, then," Joe commented, "to be right up there with the grandparents."

"That's only part of the reason," Frank told him. "With this case and all the danger that we're in, this definitely adds another dimension to it all. We've both been pretty tense about it."

"I'll bet," Joe agreed.

"You have a right to know exactly what's going on," Callie added.

Joe nodded thoughtfully. Then he gave a mischievous grin and said, "But hey. When have we ever gotten into any trouble that we didn't get out of? We'll have these cases wrapped up inside a week."

Frank and Callie each drew a long breath. They hoped Joe was right.


	22. Chapter 21: Propositions

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter: max2013, Highflyer, EvergreenDreamweaver, BMSH, Robot Wolf 26Z, Candylou, Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, and RadiantEyes! I really appreciate hearing your feedback!_

Chapter XXI

Propositions

 _November 30 – New York City_

"Another forty-eight hours?" Ned repeated glumly.

Rachel Doving nodded. "'Fraid so. Whoever sabotaged my plane, really did a number on it. I'm waiting on several parts. If they come in early, I guess it'll be shorter, but otherwise, there's nothing I can do. Sorry."

"No. I understand." Ned put his face in his hands in a gesture of frustration. "Actually, I don't. I don't understand why anyone would have sabotaged the plane."

Rachel shrugged. "I guess to keep us from getting back to River Heights. Must be something there somebody doesn't want you to learn about."

Ned raised a finger. "That's it. That's it exactly. If the solution to the mystery is not in River Heights, there's no reason to wreck the plane. If it is in River Heights, how did someone connected to it sabotage a plane in New York?"

"You got me there," Rachel replied. "You're the detective, though, not me. You better make sure the guy who did it pays for the damage. And the days of work I'm missing. And the hotel stay."

"I'll add it to the list." Baffled, Ned began to walk away from the airfield. There had to be some reason for this. Then, also, there was the note that had been put on Iola's car. The whole thing wasn't making sense. Clearly, there were still a few pieces of the puzzle missing. _At the rate things are going, the missing pieces are probably all in Rome,_ he thought with a half-amused, half-annoyed grin.

He climbed back into the rental car, thinking. In two days, he could drive back to River Heights. If he had his own car here, he would have. He bit his lip thoughtfully as an idea came to him. Nancy's aunt Eloise lived in New York. She was a librarian at one of the high schools in the city. When she had heard about the incident with the bomb, she had offered to get a week or two off work to come help. Carson, her brother, had assured her it wasn't necessary. However, with Aunt Eloise's help, Ned could return the rental car, and then the two of them could drive her car to River Heights. Of course, she might not be able to leave just like that, but it was worth asking, anyway. Besides, even if she couldn't help, Ned had two whole days to kill. He might as well pay her a visit.

He sent her a text since school probably still wasn't quite out for the day and she wouldn't be able to answer her phone right away. While he was waiting for her answer, his phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but it was from the River Heights area, so he answered it.

"Hi, Ned," a man's deep voice greeted him. "This is Ken Marshall. Remember me?"

"It hasn't been that long." Ned chuckled. Marshall had been his football coach when he had been playing for Emerson College. "What's up, Coach? Haven't heard from you in years."

"Like you said, it hasn't been that long," Marshall countered. "I heard about what happened to Nancy. Is she okay?"

"She's getting there. Thanks."

"Good. I was worried. She's a fine woman. On a happier note, I hear congratulations are in order."

"That's right." Ned grinned, thinking about his daughter. He had to get home as soon as possible. "It's a girl. She's four months old now. Her name's Marian Katherine."

"Good. That's great," Marshall said. "Though I guess Emerson can't expect another quarterback there in a few years."

"Yeah, probably not."

"That's actually what I was calling you about, Ned," Marshall continued. "I've got a proposition that I'm hoping you'd be interested in."

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Rome_

Most of the cab drivers at the airport spoke English, which was a huge help to Frank and Joe as they made the rounds, trying to find out if any of the suspects had taken cabs when they had arrived in Rome in the last couple of days. Additionally, the drivers were surprisingly helpful when the brothers identified themselves as detectives. Unfortunately, though, the almost unanimous response of all of them was that they had so many fares that they couldn't remember if they had had passengers meeting any of the descriptions. The Hardys learned nothing from them.

George, too, had no success with her task of finding out if any of the suspects had hotel reservations, at least not yet. So, Frank and Joe continued onto their next course of action, which was investigating anyone in Giada Barzetti's life who might possibly be a suspect. This, of course, meant calling on her parents, which wasn't easy, considering that neither of them spoke English. To make matters worse, both of them insisted that none of their family or friends could possibly have anything to do with their daughter's disappearance.

"Well, so far this morning hasn't been too helpful," Joe commented as he and Frank left the Barzettis' place.

"No kidding," Frank commented in disgust. "What now?"

"How about some gelato?" Joe suggested. "Might help the ol' brain cells."

"I doubt that," Frank replied, but nevertheless, he agreed to the plan.

They found a stand in a park, ordered some gelato, and sat down to eat it. Despite looking relaxed, both were deep in thought, trying to puzzle out what their next step should be.

After several moments of thoughtful silence, Joe said, "What are the chances that all these cases are connected?"

"None at all," Frank replied before even bothering to consider the possibility. "How could they be?"

"But think about it," Joe insisted. "We've got Walt Carril who's got a grudge against a department store in River Heights and accidentally or not injured Nancy. Then there's Angelo Beretta who owes money to some dangerous characters, possibly related to him selling drug. There's Giada Barzetta being kidnapped, and Edmund Wight and all that. Then finally there's Chet's mysterious girlfriend. I'll admit, I don't know how they're connected, but why would they all bring us to Rome at the same time?"

"That's the only possible connection between them," Frank said. Then another idea occurred to him. "Actually, not. There's one other: us."

"Huh?" Joe gave him a puzzled look.

"They all hit more or less close to home for us," Frank explained. "Nancy, one of our best friends, was injured in one. Chet, another of our best friends, is going to be hurt in a different way in another. You know the Berettas, and they're related to Tony, another of our closest friends. Then the Barzettis are neighbors of Callie and me."

"So, you're saying someone is trying to get revenge against us again in a very roundabout way."

"No. I don't think that's it. I hope not. I've had about enough of that."

"Then it's all a coincidence and doesn't really help us?"

Frank crossed and uncrossed his legs as he thought about it. "No, I don't think it's a coincidence either. I think we keep running into these cases for a reason, but it's not us."

"You lost me there. What do you mean?"

"I don't know exactly." Frank thought for a few more moments, trying to put it into words. "Okay. You know when you're at an amusement park all day, and there's some person or group of people that for whatever reason gets your attention? They're wearing a t-shirt for a movie you like, or they're a really big group, or you were sitting behind them on a ride and they kept being weird the whole time. And then, out of the thousands of people who are at that park that day, you keep seeing them over and over again. It's not because they're following you. It's just that you're in the same place and probably interested in the same rides and stuff, so chances are pretty good that you'll see them several times, and because they've got your attention, you notice every time you see them."

"Yeah," Joe said. "That happens a lot, actually, but what does that have to with these cases?"

"What if we're just in the same space as whoever's behind all of this?" Frank suggested. "And because we're detectives and naturally interested in it, we keep running into them or their work everywhere we turn?"

Before Joe could comment on the theory or even completely process it and what it would mean, his phone jingled as a text message came through on it. It was from George and gave the name of a hotel and a room number where she had learned that Walt Carril had reservations.

"It's about time we get a lead," Frank said. "Come on, Joe. Let's go."

They hailed a cab and requested the driver take them to the hotel. Then they made their way straight to the elevator.

On the way up, Joe grinned. "It's nice, working on a case with you again, Frank."

Frank smiled faintly, but he only murmured, "I hope it's not for the last time."

Joe gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean by that? Is that all the more confidence you've got in me?"

"No, it's not that. It's just… I didn't know how to tell you last night with Callie there. I didn't want to embarrass her."

Just then, they reached the right floor and the doors to the elevator opened.

"It'll have to wait for later," Joe said. "Let's hope Carril's here. Even if he's not our man, at least he's bound to be able to shed some light on the case. Just clearing himself is going to help."

Frank nodded, and they walked side-by-side down the hall toward the door they were looking for. When they found the number, they saw that it was a few inches ajar. The brothers exchanged surprised and baffled glances, but they silently agreed to go ahead and push the door open, rather than knocking. The sight they found left them standing in the doorway in shock.

A woman was standing with her back to the doorway with her arms folded. At her feet was a man lying face-down on the floor, a pool of blood still actively spreading from underneath him.


	23. Chapter 22: Return of a Myth

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Highflyer, max2013, Candylou, Newtothis351, EvergreenDreamweaver, Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, BMSH, and Robot Wolf 26Z for your reviews on the last chapter! There are a few references to past stories in this chapter, namely_ The Longest Layover _and_ Black Rose. _There's also mention of another case that Nancy worked on in the past that I haven't written a story about. Possibly in the future… Anyway, you haven't missed anything even if that case sounds unfamiliar._

Chapter XXII

Return of a Myth

 _December 1 – Outside Rome_

George folded up her laptop and put it away. It seemed like she had done nothing but sit on airplanes and stare at her laptop for days. Sure, it had gotten some results, but now that she had learned where Walt Carril had a hotel reservation, she felt she had earned a break. After all, that was the case that she was most concerned with. She had only run into the others because of Joe.

This wasn't at all like back when she would solve mysteries with Nancy and Bess. There had always been excitement and danger back then, but now, whenever she did any detective work, it was always computer stuff. Honestly, she wouldn't have needed to come to Rome at all. She could be doing this just as well at home.

She flopped back on her bed, discouraged. What was she even doing here? She was probably just in the way, annoying everyone as usual. That's all she ever was now – in the way. Of course, Frank and Joe were too polite to anything to her now, and of course, Nancy and Bess were too kind to point out that they really didn't have much in common anymore. Nancy and Bess were always talking about babies and husbands and stuff like that now, and they didn't have time to do anything anymore. Even when Nancy was working on a case, it was Ned and Vanessa who were working with her, not Bess and George.

Then there was Burt. He'd been ready to get married since his senior year of college. It wasn't that George didn't want to ever marry him – in fact, she was terrified that he might think that very thing and leave her – but she had so much still to do and accomplish and experience before tying herself down in marriage. And here she was – not doing any of that. At this rate, she'd never be ready to get married.

She set her chin. No use crying over any of that. She just had had way too much screen time in the last few days. That was it. Might as well get up, walk around, find someone to talk to or something to do, recharge, and then she could get right back to work.

The monastery had a wing that was laid out similar to an apartment building. Along a hallway, there were several apartments with their own bedrooms, bathrooms, and kitchenettes where guests could stay. At the end of the hallway was a large living room-type area with a large dining table, several chairs and coaches, a fireplace, and a television. There was also a bookshelf full of books and a cabinet with an assortment of board games in it. It was all very comfortable and clean, though George doubted anything was newer than the 90's.

Callie Hardy was sitting in one of the armchairs, reading a book. She greeted George pleasantly enough, but she didn't put down her book, and George took that as an indication that she wasn't interested in talking right now. George strolled over to the bookshelf to see if there was anything interesting to read.

While she was still looking the books over, she heard someone else come into the room. She turned to see a small woman with streaks of gray in her dark hair. As she walked, George noticed a pronounced limp.

"Hello," the woman greeted them, and even in that one word, George could hear a heavy accent. "You must be Mrs. Hardy and… and the other American woman."

 _Of course, she'd remember Callie's name and not mine,_ George thought with annoyance.

"Yes," Callie said, making her best attempt to smile brightly. "I'm Callie Hardy, and this is George Fayne."

"I'm Elena Wight," the woman replied. "I believe you've met my husband."

"Edmund Wight?" Callie asked.

"Yes," Elena confirmed. "He told me you would be staying here."

"It's nice to meet you," Callie said politely. "Is this where you stay?"

"Some of the time," Elena told her. There was a brief pause, and then she went on, speaking rapidly, "I'm very excited to meet you, Mrs. Hardy. I hope I'll be able to meet your husband and his brother while you're all here. I'd like to tell them thank you for everything that they did for my country."

"What did they do?" George broke in, her annoyance growing at seemingly being ignored.

"You don't know?" Elena asked as if it was unbelievable that the particular feat of the Hardy Boys that she was referring to wasn't known to everyone. "My country has been under an oppressive rule for many years. We have been fighting a rebellion with very little help from any outside countries for years now. Because of our small numbers, we can do little more than raids and sabotage. Seven year ago, we tried to get help from your country, the United States. A wealthy American promised to help us, but instead he was betraying us to our government. Frank and Joe helped us to discover this and to see that this man paid for his betrayal. They saved thousands of our people, as well as our only hope of ever being free."

George raised an eyebrow. "You mean, Frank and Joe are some sort of national heroes in your country? When they were teenagers?"

"They will be recognized as such when we win the rebellion," Elena said confidently.

George sighed. As if she wasn't already feeling unaccomplished enough…

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Rome_

The woman standing over the body looked over her shoulder when she heard Frank and Joe. "Oh, hello," she said, completely casually. "You might not want to touch anything. I guess you didn't take my warning. I wanted you to ignore it, but I was hoping it would send you back to River Heights. I guess I should have put 'Don't return to River Heights if you want to live' or something like that. Oh well. It was a spur of the moment thing. Figured it was worth a try anyway."

Frank and Joe stared at her for a moment. In the split second before she turned around, they had been prepared to make a dash at her and grab her when she tried to get away, but she didn't seem to have any intention of running. Instead, she merely went back to coolly surveying the body.

Joe glanced at Frank before asking, "What are you talking about? What's going on here? Who are you? And who's that?"

The woman turned around, a look of astonishment on her stunningly beautiful face. "You don't know the answers to any of those questions? And here I thought you two were some sort of great detectives. Guess I was wrong. Plus I missed out on your aunt's pumpkin pie, which Chet assured me was delicious, for no reason."

"You mean, you're Tory Juniper?" Joe asked, putting that one together at least.

"Give this man a prize," the woman replied sarcastically. "Actually, though, that's not my real. You really don't recognize me, huh? Gotta say that's weird."

Frank pushed his way forward into the room. The man on the floor looked as if he was definitely dead, but Frank had to find out for sure. He felt for a pulse but there was none.

"That's the first thing I did when I came in here a couple minutes ago, you know," the woman said.

"So, you didn't kill him?" Frank asked.

"Kill him? Of course not." The woman looked thoroughly insulted. "He was my best lead. Why would I kill him?"

"Are you investigating the bombing, too?" Frank stood up straight to look the woman full in the face and try to determine if she was lying.

"No. I mean, Nancy's a nice person and all, but her problems are a little below my pay grade, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't think we know anything that you mean," Joe broke in. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

"Out in the hall, though," Frank said, "and after we call the police."

"I already did that," the woman told him.

"Well, then, you won't mind if we call them again," Frank replied.

The call was soon completed, with the woman chortling at Frank's poor Italian. When it was done, both Hardys looked intently at the stranger.

"Okay, start explaining," Joe demanded.

"All right." The woman shrugged nonchalantly. "If Nancy Drew was here, she'd recognize me. Maybe she's never told you about me, in which case, my feelings are irreparably damaged. Oh well. The name Nancy knows me by is Alyssa Roche."

Joe snapped his fingers. "Nancy's mentioned you before. You're that spy she met on that case."

"Oh, goody." Alyssa was apparently unable to drop the sarcasm from her voice.

"You're the one who was investigating those terrorists," Frank added, his voice grim. "Black Rose."

"Not 'was'," Alyssa corrected him.

"Wait. Is Walt Carril one of them, then?" Joe asked. "Is that him over in the room?"

"Who else would it be?" Alyssa replied. "But don't interrupt, Joe. I'm trying to explain."

"But what does any of this have to do with Chet?" Joe insisted.

Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Please, I'll tell you the whole thing if you just stop and listen. See, I met Nancy Drew quite a few years ago. She was doing her whole amateur detective thing, you know, and stumbled on some clues to Black Rose. I was the one thing between her and an abrupt end to her little career, if you know what I mean. In return, I learned a useful thing or two from her. So, anyway, I've been on the trail of Black Rose for a long time, and Nancy Drew and her associates have been on my radar for a long time as well."

Frank and Joe listened intently. Black Rose was a very secretive terrorist organization that was credited with a number of apparently unrelated incidents. However, there was no definite proof linking these events together, and so the official opinion of the FBI and most other law enforcement agencies was that Black Rose was an urban legend. As a result, it had given rise to dozens of conspiracy theories, mostly to the effect that the FBI was covering it up. Years ago, Nancy had had a brush with Black Rose, as Alyssa Roche said. Not long after that, Nancy and Callie had nearly become victims to a group of terrorists whom Nancy suspected were a part of Black Rose when these terrorists had taken over a small airport and held everyone there hostage. Then, just a little over a year ago, the Hardys had had an encounter with what they had thought was Black Rose, although it had turned out to be another person trying to take revenge on them.

"So, I decided the only way to trace Black Rose was to do one of two things," Alyssa continued. "Learn their motive or find out where they got their money. Now, the motive part I've been working on for years and never got anywhere, so a couple of years ago, I went to work on the money part of it. My results there were much better. I discovered that they were big into the human trafficking business, and I mean big. Then I found out that the way that they get some of their victims – teenagers and adults, anyway – is through dating apps. It's taken me years, but I finally figured out how they choose their victims."

"So that's where Chet comes in?" Joe asked with an incredulous expression. "You thought he was part of Black Rose and was luring in people?"

Alyssa looked scornful at the suggestion. "Definitely not. He's exactly the sort of person they'd look for. I thought if I dated him, he could tell me about some of the other girls who have contacted him, and I could run them down. I might get lucky."

"Why would Chet be such a likely victim?" Frank inquired. "I thought these people were more after kids and women."

"They'll take anyone they can get," Alyssa said. "They've got a world-wide market. There are all sorts of reasons people buy off it. Lonely people are always a good target, and ones that will take risks are even better ones. Plus, do you have any idea how many dating sites he has accounts on? Even if he wasn't a target, the odds would be pretty good that he would have encountered one of Black Rose's people anyway. Besides, there's another thing about him that makes him potentially stand out: he knows you. You might have an enemy or two desperate enough to get back at you that they'd go to any lengths to have a hold over you."

"You could have at least told him what you were up to," Joe retorted, "instead of just letting him find out for himself."

Alyssa shrugged. "He should count himself lucky that I'm the worst he ran into."

"How does Walt Carril fit into all this?" Frank asked.

"Oh, him," Alyssa said. "Poor guy. He was a pretty big loser, you know. Anyway, he got in with Black Rose somehow. They had him stationed in River Heights to keep an eye on Nancy from a distance, I found out. Nancy's on Black Rose's radar, apparently, which is a problem. Back to Carril, though. Being an all-around loser, he couldn't keep his mind on his job and got some sticky fingers when he was working the till. He got found out, but only fired instead of arrested, since it wasn't even a big amount. Still, he lost his cover, and he wasn't going to have much luck finding a new one in River Heights. His real boss wasn't gonna be happy. Not being the sharpest knife in the drawer, he bawled out his former manager, McGregor, and threatened the store. Then, when the bomb happened and Carril had all sorts of attention attracted to himself, Black Rose was furious. I was pretty sure he was headed to their headquarters to try to explain himself. That's why I was following him. Then somebody else got to him here, and I don't have a trail to follow anymore."

"So, why did he set the bomb then?" Frank asked.

"He didn't," Alyssa replied. "I'm sure of that. He made his threats a good two weeks before the bomb happened. He'd cooled off by then. Someone else must have taken advantage of the opportunity."

"How do you know all this?" Joe questioned suddenly.

"I have contacts," Alyssa explained.

"Who?" Joe insisted. "Who do work for, and who are your contacts?"

"I don't have liberty to tell you either of those right at the moment," Alyssa said. "Carril got my attention a few years ago when he mixed up in an affair that had 'Black Rose' written all over it. I've been keeping tabs on him ever since, tapping his phone, bugging his apartment, reading his emails. Old-school stuff, really. That's how I found out why he was in River Heights and that he was in trouble with Black Rose. The rest was good, old-fashioned reasoning."

"So, all of the cases are connected, in some way, except for possibly the Beretta one," Frank concluded.

"What did you mean about your warning?" Joe asked. "The one you mentioned when we first came in?"

"Oh, that was the warning on Iola's car," Alyssa explained. "I wrote it. I figured if you kept working on Nancy's case – as long as you didn't try to follow Carril – you'd keep out of Black Rose's hair. Warning you off that case seemed like the best way to get to focus on it more. Like I said, it was worth a try."

"Why did you want to keep us away from Black Rose?" Joe continued.

Before Alyssa could answer, the police arrived. She winked at Joe and mouthed, "Tell you later."


	24. Chapter 23: Dangerous Plans

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, Caranath, max2013, Cherylann Rivers, and Highflyer for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XXIII

Dangerous Plans

 _December 1 – River Heights_

Nancy was sitting up, eagerly waiting for the doctor to come in. Ever since seeing that report on the news the day before, a plan had been forming in her mind. If the doctor would agree to it, Nancy could have this case wrapped up by the next day. At any rate, it couldn't hurt to ask.

"Good morning, Nancy," the doctor said a few minutes later as he swung the door open. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Much better," Nancy assured him. "In fact, I'm feeling so much better, I was wondering if you would let me have a few extra visitors today."

The doctor hesitated. "I don't know. You are making excellent progress, but rest is still absolutely necessary for your recovery. I don't want you to tire yourself out. It could set your recovery back."

"This is very important," Nancy assured him, "and it wouldn't take long. I want to make a statement to the police."

"You've already talked to them," the doctor reminded her.

"I know. There's something more I want to tell them. I also want the press to be here."

The doctor raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "The press? Why would you want them here."

"It really is important," Nancy insisted. "You saw the news yesterday?"

"Oh. Yes, I did see that."

"Then you'll understand me wanting to set the record straight on a couple of points," Nancy finished.

The doctor still hesitated. "I do understand. Really. It's just that surely this could wait a day or two."

Nancy shook her head. "It's much better if this gets cleared up as soon as possible. I'm sure most people around here realize by now that the media is full of hot air when it comes to me, but I want to make absolutely certain that they know that that report was false and that I'm going to do something about it this time."

"Well, I suppose that will be all right," the doctor finally conceded. "It's not to last more than half an hour, though, and I think it best if as few people as possible are involved."

"Of course," Nancy agreed. "I'd like it if Chief McGinnis and Officer Starr were here. As for the press, all I really care about is that Theresa Davens is here. And fifteen minutes will be plenty to talk to her, although I would like it if Chief McGinnis and Officer Starr were here fifteen minutes before her. I'd like to talk to them privately first, and that will make a half hour total."

"All right," the doctor said reluctantly. "I'll see to it that arrangements are made. I'll let you know what time all this will happen."

"Thanks." Nancy smiled. This was perfect.

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Rome_

It was an odd group who was sitting around a table in a small café in Rome. Frank and Joe Hardy were sitting on one side of the table, while Edmund Wight and Alyssa Roche sat on the other. The Hardys and Alyssa had given statements to the police about what they knew about Walt Carril's murder, and much to Frank and Joe's surprise, they were completely believed. Then they had met up with Wight so that the four of them could talk over the case.

At least, that was what Frank and Joe had intended to do. The moment Alyssa mentioned Black Rose, any chances for intelligent conversation seemed to vanish.

Edmund Wight snorted in disgust at the mere mention of the terrorist organization. "So, you're one of those investigators, are you?" he asked Alyssa. "Do you also think the world is flat?"

"I don't see what that has to do with anything," Alyssa responded with a tinge of anger in her voice.

"We've got a real problem here," Wight told her, "and you want to blame it all on fairytales."

"Black Rose is hardly a fairytale," Alyssa responded. "They're one of the most dangerous organizations to have ever existed. So dangerous, in fact, that our chances of ever stopping them are so thin that so-called investigators like yourself prefer to pretend that it doesn't exist. Ask your buddies here. They know."

"I… Well…" Getting into the middle of this argument was the last thing Frank wanted at the moment. "We believe that they exist and are a real threat, but we don't have any concrete evidence."

Joe merely rolled his eyes. This didn't seem to have anything to do with anything.

"You see?" Wight seemed to take Frank's statement as absolute proof of his position. "There's never any concrete evidence about Black Rose."

"And I suppose the lack of concrete evidence means that they can't possibly exist?" Alyssa countered. "Of course they take all possible precautions to keep a low profile. Obviously, then, finding absolute proof of their activities is going to be extremely difficult."

"So what do you intend to do?" Wight demanded. "Go chasing rumors and myths while there are real people who need our help? You can go chasing leprechauns if you want. I'm not buying any part of that story."

"Oh, but I suppose you believe everything your religious organization says?" Alyssa said drily. "You're not really one to talk about…"

"Okay, enough is enough," Joe broke in suddenly. "This is getting ridiculous now. The way I see it, it doesn't really matter who's behind these kidnappings. At any rate, none of us have half enough evidence to say who it is. Until then, we all need to keep an open mind about it. Now, Frank and I don't really need any help solving this thing. You two are welcome to tag along if you like and if you can remember that you're supposed to be professionals. Otherwise, you're just wasting our time."

Wight looked a bit embarrassed. "You're right, Joe. It's more important to focus on the matter at hand."

As for Alyssa, she merely folded her arms. "Well, if the Hardy Boys don't need me, I guess I'll be on my way. I have more important things to do, like running down the one lead I have left."

"Oh, come on," Frank said. "There's no point in us acting like this. We've got a case to solve, and the best way to do that is to work together. You say you've got a lead?"

"That's right," Alyssa admitted. "Walt Carril was a better lead, sure, but this one might get us somewhere."

"What is it?" Frank asked.

"There's been some kidnappings along the riverfront," Alyssa explained.

"Yes, I know about them," Wight said. "I don't see how they get us anywhere."

"Of any place in the city, there's a certain of the riverfront that has the highest concentration of kidnapping," Alyssa continued, her sarcastic tone predominant. "I plan on spending some time down there, observing. I might see something."

"That's a long shot," Wight objected.

Alyssa shrugged. "Any of you have any better ideas?"

None of them did, so this plan was agreed upon. As Wight had said, it wasn't the best chance, but at least they would be doing something. They decided to do it in shifts so that there would be someone watching at any given time. Wight and Alyssa took the first shift, while Frank and Joe would go back to the monastery and check in with Callie and George and then come back later.

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Outside Rome_

Callie closed the door to her and Frank's apartment softly after her. She and Frank hadn't talked much when he came back; there hadn't been much to say. Callie was still worried, and Frank was still torn. They had to come to some agreement, and as soon as possible.

She jumped a little when she met Joe right outside. He had been walking past, and she hadn't heard him, so his sudden appearance startled her.

"Hey, Callie," Joe said. "Where's Frank?"

"Sleeping," Callie told him. "He hasn't gotten much sleep in the last few days, and he really needs it."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." Joe yawned. He had been doing a pretty good job dealing with it, but the jet lag was still rough.

"You'd better go get some sleep, too," Callie told him. "Frank said you're going to go down to the waterfront to do some surveillance work."

"Probably isn't a bad idea," Joe agreed, but he didn't leave. Instead, he asked, "Callie, is something the matter? With you and Frank?"

Callie paused. "What makes you ask something like that?"

"I'm just picking up some things here and there," Joe replied. "You both seem… not very happy. And Frank said something weird about this maybe being the last case he works on with me. What's going on?"

Callie looked away, fighting back a surge of emotion. "I guess we're pretty bad at hiding things."

"Well, I am a detective," Joe reminded, "and I know both of you pretty well."

There was no getting out of it now. "Let's go sit down," Callie invited him.

She led him into the living room area, and they sat on one of the couches to talk. It took Callie several minutes to work up the courage to tell the whole story straight, but Joe waited patiently. Finally, before she got anything else said, she burst out, "Why, Joe? Why do you do it?"

"Why do I do what?"

"Solve mysteries." Callie bit her lip. "You know how dangerous it is. You and Frank have risked your lives dozens of times, and what good has it done you?"

Joe took a long breath. This was unexpected. If Callie was having an issue with Frank's job on top of the present cases, no wonder they both seemed so strained. Joe was going to have to be very careful with his answer.

"I guess," he said finally, "it's hard to say what we've gotten out of it. Neither of us have really thought in those terms about it. And I guess you probably don't want to hear some spiel about the greater good and helping people and 'somebody's got to do it' and all that sort of thing. That's all right, but it wouldn't be that big of a comfort if anything ever happened to Frank."

"No, not really," Callie agreed. "But is that selfish of me? You and Frank have done a lot of good. There's a woman here from the Huellas, and she's been telling me all about what the two of you did for her country several years ago. I had no idea. I don't know how I feel. I feel like I must be pretty selfish if Frank can do so much good and wants to and I just want to keep him to myself."

"I don't think it's selfish," Joe assured her. "You didn't marry him because he was a hero. I'm sure you'd rather him be safe and be an ordinary guy than have him… in danger and the whole world singing his praises."

"Wouldn't you?" Callie asked. "You and Frank have always been so close. Doesn't it scare you knowing that any day…" She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Sometimes," Joe admitted. "It's a little hard to explain, I guess. Frank and I were born into this world detective work, so it's different for us. We never had a choice about it. Even if we weren't detectives, we'd still have to watch our backs. Dad's got a lot of enemies who aren't above taking it out on his family. Being detectives ourselves gives us a little more control over it, at least."

"But where does it end?" Callie asked. "Your dad's detective work put you and Frank in danger; now Frank's detective work will put our child in danger." She shivered thinking about it.

Joe put his hand on her shoulder. So this was what it was all about. "I know, Callie. Protecting that little guy or girl is your first priority now. But the thing is, you can't." Callie gave him an incredulous look, and he hurriedly continued, "Oh, sure, you can do some things. Not leave loaded guns around the house, keep any prescriptions well out of reach, no poisonous houseplants, that sort of thing, but that'll only get you so far. There are dozens of other things that you won't be able to protect him or her from. Accidents, getting bullied at school, getting into trouble at school, getting lost, health problems."

"Maybe, but at least I don't want to have to worry about my son or daughter being kidnapped or… or worse," Callie faltered.

"You know, Cal," Joe pointed out, "every parent has to worry about that. That's why every parent, whether they work in law enforcement or as a cashier at a store, tells their kids not to talk to strangers or accept candy or presents from strangers. That's why a lot of parents arrange a safety word with their kids so that they have a way of letting them know that they're in trouble. It's one of the reasons parents can be so annoying about dating, especially if you're trying to date someone older than you. Your kids will have a higher chance of something bad happening to them. No doubt about it. But there's no guarantee that if Frank keeps up his detective work, you and he won't get to spend your whole lives together and that all your kids won't grow up and be successful and happy. There's also no guarantee that if Frank gives it up that disaster won't strike."

"Maybe," Callie admitted.

"Look at Giada Barzetti," Joe pointed out. "Her parents aren't detectives and have no connection with any detectives that I know of, and that didn't stop what happened."

"Then I should just give up all hope of ever feeling like my family is safe?" Callie asked.

"No," Joe told her. "You should have more trust. Trust Frank that he can take care of himself and you and your kids. Trust your kids because they'll be smarter and stronger than you expect – their parents are some of the smartest and strongest people I know, after all. Trust yourself that you're stronger than you think you are. Trust God that nothing will happen without a reason and that whatever happens, He'll look after you."

Callie put her face in her hands. "I just want to go home. I want some time to think."

"It won't be much longer," Joe assured her. Then he hugged her. "And in the meantime, I promise I won't let anything happen to Frank."


	25. Chapter 24: Developments

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to everyone who has taken time to leave reviews since I posted the last chapter: Candylou, BMSH, Highflyer, max2013, Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, EvergreenDreamweaver, and Ritu!_

Chapter XXIV

Developments

 _December 1 – New York City_

"It doesn't look like driving is going to work," Ned explained over the phone. "I asked Aunt Eloise, but she says she can't get off for that many days at that short a notice, especially after she said she wasn't going to have to. So, I guess I'm still stuck, at least until tomorrow. How's Nancy doing? And Marian?"

"They're both fine," Carson assured him. "If there's anyone who understands getting tied up on a case, it's Nancy. Don't worry."

"I know," Ned replied half-heartedly. "I just don't like being away from them right now."

"Of course not," Carson told him. "It'll be okay, though. There isn't anything else you can do right now."

Ned had to admit that was true as he hung up the phone. Aunt Eloise had offered to let him stay with her, at least, so that was a few less nights in a hotel room. In the meantime, though, being stuck in New York felt pretty completely useless.

"Ned," Aunt Eloise said as she came into the room. It was only a few minutes before she would have to leave for work. "Did you see the news this morning?"

"No," Ned replied. "Why? Did something happen?"

Aunt Eloise held out her phone to show Ned the story that had caught her attention. It explained that the evening before, a woman named Elizabeth Hart had been arrested for possession of illegal drugs.

"Isn't that the same woman you mentioned talking to a couple of days ago?" Aunt Eloise asked.

The story included mugshots of Elizabeth, and Ned could still see the bruises on her face clearly. "Yeah, that's the same one. I wonder if she'd be any more willing to talk now. She might know why Angelo went to Rome and exactly where he was headed. I could at least help Joe out on that case, anyway."

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – River Heights_

Chief McGinnis sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. If it had been anyone else who had outlined the plan he had just listened to, he would have been staring at them in disbelief, but since it was Nancy Drew Nickerson, what else could he expect?

"I don't know, Nancy," he said. "It's a risky plan."

"A little," Nancy conceded, "but I think it's a good chance. And it won't be that risky with you helping."

"What do you think, Logan?" McGinnis asked, turning to the officer beside him.

"I think Nancy's right," Logan Starr replied. "It's worth a shot. Especially since I think all three of us agree that Walt Carril wasn't behind it. That means whoever was might still be hanging around. We've got to flush them out somehow."

"All right," McGinnis agreed reluctantly. "We'll try it. Go tell those reporters they can come in now, Logan."

As the officer went to do as his superior told him, Nancy smiled her thanks to Chief McGinnis. She had to admit that the plan had some danger involved in it, but if the bomber was still in town, he or she would have a hard time resisting the bait that Nancy was about to offer.

The reporters who had come were Theresa Davens and another who was a little less hostile to Nany, Eric Sherman. It took them a few minutes to set up their recording equipment. Then Theresa turned to Nancy with a flashing smile.

"It's certainly good to see you feeling so much better, Ms. Nickerson," Theresa greeted her. "And I was certainly flattered to be offered your first interviews following your… accident. I was under the impression that it was to be an exclusive interview, though." She cast a disapproving glance at Eric.

"No," Nancy replied, mimicking Theresa's smile. "Any journalists who wanted to come were welcome. Thank you both for coming. I do have one small correction to offer, Ms. Davens. What happened was not an accident."

"Oh, yes," Theresa agreed hastily. "Of course, the bomb wasn't an accident, but I doubt the bomber intended you to be caught in the explosion. That part was an accident."

Nancy nodded. "I believe you're right in that."

"You say that with a great deal of confidence," Theresa said. "How can you be so sure? Do you speak with some authority on this?"

"As a matter of fact," Nancy replied, "that's why I called for this conference. There have been some reports circling that I may possibly be more than just a victim in this case." She gave Theresa a pointed look.

If the reporter was taken aback at all by Nancy's statement, she didn't show it. "Would you mind clarifying that statement?"

Before Nancy could reply, Eric jumped in with a question. "Nancy, your reputation as a detective is well known, as is your husband's. There are also reports that Joe Hardy, a private detective from the East Coast, was here for a few days investigating the case, but that he and your husband have gone to New York to follow a lead. Do you care to tell us what that lead was?"

"We had one strong suspect who reportedly left for New York," Nancy explained. "However, we now believe that that suspect was not actually involved."

"How did you come to this conclusion?" Theresa asked. "Have you known all along that this suspect, whoever he is, has been framed? Perhaps you've known all along who the guilty party is?"

"You don't need to skirt around it so delicately," Nancy told her. "I'm aware of your suspicions regarding me. To answer your question, though, I did not know who was responsible for what happened, at least not until recently."

Surprise passed over both reporters' faces.

"Who is responsible, then?" Eric inquired.

Nancy pretended to be flustered for a moment but quickly made a show of smoothing it over. "What I meant was that I am getting close to discovering the culprit, with the help of the police, of course."

"Chief McGinnis, perhaps you would clarify Ms. Nickerson's statement." Theresa turned to the chief of police, waving her microphone at him.

"No comment," McGinnis replied gruffly.

"You said you're aware of certain unfounded and unofficial accusations against you," Eric said, looking at Nancy once again. "Do you intend to take legal action against those spreading these accusations?"

Nancy let a small smirk creep over her lips, but she was watching Theresa carefully as she made her answer. "Only as far as the interests of justice are concerned."

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Rome_

"I'm glad you let me come along," George said as she and Joe walked along next to the river in the part of the city that Alyssa Roche had stated to be suspicious. "I was getting pretty bored back at that monastery."

Joe shrugged. "You came all this way. Might as well be helping."

"Yeah, seeing how I haven't been any help at all so far," George retorted, a little ruffled.

"That's not what I meant," Joe defended himself. "You don't have to be so defensive about it."

George looked away. "I guess not. Sorry." She hesitated. "Would you rather if I wouldn't have come?"

The question caught Joe off guard, and he stopped walking for a moment. Then he started forward again and without meeting George's eyes countered, "Why would ask something like that?"

"I mean, am I bugging you?" George asked. "I feel like I probably am. Especially since you're going out of your way to not answer."

"No," Joe said. "You're not really bugging me that much. I mean… That didn't come out right." He stared at the ground in embarrassment.

George also looked away. "I thought so. I'm always in the way for Nancy, too, these days. It's really the pits being a third wheel all the time."

"I guess I can sympathize with that," Joe said.

"Yeah, I guess you probably can," George replied with a small smile.

"You and Burt are still together, aren't you?" Joe asked.

"Sure. For now." George shrugged.

"What do you mean by that?" Joe put his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

"Oh, just that he wants to get married. He's proposed several times. I'm just not ready yet."

"So, you've turned down several proposals?" Joe raised an eyebrow. "Don't you like him?"

"Of course, I do," George retorted.

"Do you want to marry him sometime?"

"Yeah," George said. "Someday. Just not yet."

"You might want to tell him that. It's not really fair to keep him waiting around forever, not knowing."

"I did tell him," George replied. "I don't know what to do. What would you do if you were me?"

"I don't really know what you mean," Joe replied confusedly. "It sounds like you know what you want, so…"

"That's just it," George interrupted. "I don't know what I want. I never really have. You and Frank and Nancy and Bess all have always had your lives all figured out. All I know for sure is that I want to do something really important and not just be the girl from IT forever. I just don't know what."

"If that's what you're waiting for, I've got a news flash for you George," Joe said. "Life doesn't end when you get married."

Several possible retorts to that occurred to George, but before she could use any of them, Alyssa Roche suddenly loomed up in front of them as if she had just come out of a trapdoor. Both Joe and George jumped.

"What are you doing here?" Joe asked, recovering first.

"Keeping an eye out here, like I said I would," Alyssa replied. "I just stayed longer than I said I would. I think I've got something. Where's your brother?"

"Around here somewhere," Joe told her. "I can call him. What did you see?"

In response, Alyssa held out her phone. It showed a candid picture of a man and a young girl walking along the wharf. The girl was about eight and looked very similar to the pictures Joe had seen of Giada Barzetti.

"They're here now?" Joe asked in a low voice. "You just saw them."

"Uh huh," Alyssa replied. She swiped the screen to show a picture of a car with the license plate clearly visible. "They just got here ten minutes ago in this car. It's parked down over there. I think you and Frank should go watch the car. George and I will try to follow the suspect. You guys need to keep out of sight, though. If this guy is mixed up with Black Rose, he might recognize you. Oh, and another thing." She took a small object out of her pocket and held it out toward Joe. "Just in case they give us the slip and get away, put this tracker on the car. That way, we'll at least know where they went. It's already activated. You just have to stick it on."

Joe took the tracker and put it in his own pocket. "Okay. But if that is Giada Barzetti, it's more important that we get her away from that creep than it is to catch him or have him lead us to his headquarters, got it?"

"Whatever you say," Alyssa agreed. "Now, let's get moving before we lose our chance of doing either."

As she and George hurried away in the direction that she had seen the man and the girl, Joe took out his phone and began explaining the development to Frank.


	26. Chapter 25: Giada

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, max2013, Highflyer, EvergreenDreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, and Robot Wolf 26Z for your reviews on the last chapter! We're getting very close to the end of this story now…_

Chapter XXV

Giada

 _December 1 – New York City_

Ned sat down on one side of the table, bumping his elbow in his nervousness as he did. He had been working on cases with Nancy for years, but he hadn't done things like this very often. He wasn't sure how well he'd do.

Fortunately, when he had requested to see Elizabeth Hart, the police were familiar with his reputation – Nancy's reputation, really, but they counted it here – and had agreed to let him talk to her privately in a small room. Although Elizabeth had been caught with drugs in her possession, the police believed Angelo Beretta had supplied it to her, and so he was the one they really wanted to catch. Of course, with him in Italy, there wasn't much they could do at the moment, but they intended to get all the evidence they could against Angelo so that the minute he set foot on U.S. soil again, they could arrest him. If Elizabeth could be persuaded to tell what she knew, they were sure they could do it.

Ned wished he could be so sure about his own ability to get Elizabeth to talk. He'd seen Nancy persuade suspects to say more than they intended dozens of times, but he hadn't very often done it himself.

When Elizabeth came into the room, she stared at Ned with mixed curiosity and suspicion. Ned immediately stood up and gestured to the other chair.

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked.

"Are you another detective that wants to question me?" Elizabeth asked, warily sitting in the chair Ned had offered her.

"I'm a detective," Ned confirmed, "but not a police detective. I'm a PI. My name's Ned. Maybe you don't remember me, but we met briefly the other day. When that man attacked you at your apartment."

Elizabeth looked up quickly. "You believe me? Everyone else says it was Angelo, but I guess I would recognize my own boyfriend."

"Yeah, I guess so," Ned agreed. "I did want to ask you some questions about Angelo, though."

"Why?" Elizabeth asked sharply. "He hasn't done anything wrong. You can't prove anything."

"No, I can't," Ned admitted. "But I believe Angelo's in trouble."

"Not with the law, he's not." Elizabeth glared at him.

"I don't know about that," Ned replied. "There's something else, though." He leaned forward and spoke as if he was saying something confidential. "You know, sometimes a guy doesn't like to admit things like this to his girl, so maybe Angelo didn't tell you. He went to his brother, asking for money last week. His brother couldn't give it to him, even though Angelo said it was a matter of life and death."

"His brother's no good," Elizabeth complained. "Or maybe he's too good. That's what he thinks, that he's too good to bother about people like Angelo, as if he didn't crawl out of the gutter, just like him. All his holier-than-thou airs. No wonder he wouldn't give Angelo any money, even if his life depended on it."

"Oh, you know Mario?"

"Never met him. Never want to. Angelo's told me everything I need to know about his family to know they're a pack of… of…" Elizabeth spluttered furiously before she could find the words to describe the Berettas.

Ned raised his hand for her to stop. "Okay, okay. I understand. Mario is concerned about Angelo and wants to know what the trouble is that he's in."

"Well, I don't know." Elizabeth folded her arms. "Like you said, he didn't tells me about it."

"He didn't have any way of getting the money he needed," Ned pointed out.

"It's his brother's fault," Elizabeth spat out.

"His life is in danger now," Ned continued. "You might be the only one who can help him. Even if you don't know what the trouble is, at least maybe you can tell me a little bit about what he's been doing, where he's been going, where he is now."

"I can't tell you."

"Or you won't?" Ned asked. "He's not in the country. We know that much. If you tell us where he is, the police can't arrest him. But it could save his life."

Elizabeth's chin trembled as she considered this. Then she eyed Ned with distrust. "You swear?"

"It's the truth," Ned confirmed. "It's also true that Angelo's in danger, and you might be able to help him. And that if you don't…"

"I get it," Elizabeth interrupted wretchedly. "Okay. I'll tell you what I know." She took a few moments to compose herself. "Angelo knows a guy I think is from the Mob. He's not involved with him at all, if that's what you're thinking."

"The Mob?" Ned repeated.

"Well, he's Italian, anyway," Elizabeth explained. "His name's Enrico. I don't know his last name. Angelo swears he's not with the Mob and the fact that he's Italian doesn't mean anything. He says lots of Italians don't have anything to do with the Mob, and he should know since his family's Italian. But Enrico's into something big and illegal. He's got lots of money, too. Maybe Angelo borrowed money from him. Angelo doesn't have much money, you know. Enrico's the sort of guy who would be pretty mad if he loaned some money and it didn't get repaid."

"Do you know where Enrico is?" Ned asked. This sounded like a good lead.

"Maybe Italy," Elizabeth replied. "I said he was Italian."

"Oh. I thought you just meant he was Italian-descent."

"Not unless accents are hereditary." Elizabeth wrinkled her forehead thoughtfully. "I think Enrico lives in Rome. Angelo could have been going to talk to him."

"That could be a good lead," Ned told her. "Do you have any idea where in Rome my friends could find Enrico?" When Elizabeth shook her head, Ned went on, "This could be the only way to save his life. Could you at least tell me what he looks like?"

"I can do that," Elizabeth replied. "He's really short. Not much taller than me, and I'm five-four. He's also really heavy. Like, really heavy. He's got dark hair that's cut really nice and dark eyes and a sorta darker complexion."

Ned hastily took notes on all of this. "What about his face? Anything noteworthy about it?"

"No. No, but he does have a tattoo. Not on his face, obviously. On his wrist. I noticed it when he was shaking hands with Angelo. Uh, as a greeting, not because they were making some deal or something."

"What was it a tattoo of?"

"A rose. A black rose."

Ned almost dropped his pen. "Are you sure?

Elizabeth nodded.

"Okay." This was unexpected, considering that Frank and Joe hadn't told Ned anything about running into Black Rose in Rome since talking about it over the phone wasn't safe. He closed his notebook and stood up. "Thanks, Elizabeth. You've been a big help. My friends and I will do everything we can to keep Angelo safe."

"Ned?" Elizabeth said suddenly, her eyes becoming teary. "I… I lied about the man who hit me. It was Angelo. But I don't want him arrested for it. He's not all bad. There's some good in him."

"I hope so," Ned replied, but he had his doubts.

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Rome_

"So, what kind car are we looking for?" Frank asked. He and Joe had caught up to each other, and Joe had just finished explaining what Alyssa Roche had seen.

"A blue Ford Taurus," Joe replied, and then he smirked. "Y'know, one of those foreign cars."

Frank grinned, but otherwise he was all business. "What was the license plate?"

"I've got it right here." Joe held out a slip of paper with the license number on it.

The brothers were in the vicinity where Alyssa had spotted the car, so they began to keep their eyes out for it. Finally, Frank pointed it out.

"Alyssa gave me a tracker she wanted me to put on it," Joe said. "Let's see if I can stick it on without looking too suspicious."

"Just look like you know what you're doing. It's the acting nervous part that gets people suspicious more than what you actually… do." Frank paused before he said the last word, something else catching his attention. There was another car parked beside the suspect one: the same car he had seen the would-be kidnapper escape in a few days ago.

"You okay?" Joe asked him, noticing his distraction.

"Yeah." Frank explained about the other car.

Joe whistled when he had finished. "Which do we put the tracker on now? The blue one might be more pertinent to the case, if the girl Alyssa saw really was Giada, but the silver one definitely belongs to a kidnapper, and considering somebody tried to kill you so soon after you saw that guy, I'd say there's a pretty good chance he's Black Rose."

"Let's back off a minute," Frank suggested. "We'll check with George and Alyssa and see if they've got the girl and the man in sight. If they do, I feel pretty confident that we can catch them before they get to their car, so I'd put it on the silver one."

Joe nodded. "Sounds good to me. Uh, are you gonna call one of them?"

"I can," Frank replied, giving him a curious glance. "Is there some reason in particular you don't want to talk to them?"

Joe didn't answer right away, and Frank didn't wait for an answer. He placed the call to George, and the two began comparing notes. Then Alyssa started breaking in on the conversation, and it took several minutes before they were all on the same page.

Meanwhile, Joe was keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of kidnappers. Then, a short distance down the dock, he spotted a man holding a young girl tightly by the hand. The girl looked somewhat unhappy, but even more than that, Joe recognized them right away as the people in the picture Alyssa had shown him. He tugged at Frank's sleeve and nodded in their direction.

Frank spotted them at once. "That's Giada, all right." Then he spoke into the phone. "We're down by the cars. You two better hurry over here."

"Okay, plan of attack," Joe said as Frank ended the call. "We're in a public place, so that helps. He's probably not going to try anything too rough if he can help it. Most likely he's going to try to run."

"Possibly," Frank said. "If we get close enough before we make our move and he decides to try to run, he might leave Giada behind. In that case, I'll stay with her, since she knows me a little and I'll frighten her the least. Alyssa and George will hopefully be here by then and can help you capture the guy. On the other hand, if he has a weapon, he might try to use Giada as a hostage."

Joe nodded grimly. "True. How about the police? Should we try calling them?"

"Of course, it's not a bad idea," Frank agreed, "except it will only take that guy and Giada a few minutes to get to that car, and there's no way the police will get here in time. We also won't have the time to explain everything to them over the phone before we'll have to act."

"Okay. How's this: That guy probably doesn't know who we are. We just walk toward them like we're just some more people milling around here. When we get close enough, you grab Giada away from him, and I'll make a dive at the guy."

Frank rapidly considered the possible problems with this plan, but in the short time they had to think, it sounded like the best idea. "We'll try it. You ready?"

Joe nodded, and they started walking forward, acting as casual as they could. Neither the suspect nor Giada gave any sign of noticing them in particular. However, before the Hardys were close enough to make their move, the man turned away from the line of parked cars and towards the water. Giada resisted, and they exchanged a few words, Giada sounding annoyed and cranky, but not particularly frightened. Finally, she gave a resigned shrug and began following the man.

Frank and Joe exchanged a quick glance, but it was obvious that they needed to follow. On one hand, this meant that it would be easier to take the suspect by surprise, but it also meant that the Hardys would have to walk quickly to catch up with them, especially since the man quickened his pace now, pulling an unwilling Giada along behind him.

"Do you think he recognized us?" Joe whispered to Frank.

Frank shook his head. "I don't see how. I wish I could have understood what he and Giada were saying."

The suspect's fast pace kept him out of Frank and Joe's reach since the brothers would have to practically start running to catch up with him quickly. Fortunately, though, he didn't look around or seem to be trying to evade them, so they concluded that he didn't realize he was being followed. He did, however, lead them to a fairly deserted part of the riverfront, which neither of the detectives liked.

"I don't see George or Alyssa anywhere," Joe said to Frank in a low tone. "They probably didn't get to the cars fast enough to see where we went. You'd better call them again."

There were so few people in this area that the chances of the suspect spotting his tails were good. They were going to need to make a move soon, and they need back-up for that. Frank took his phone out of his pocket and was about to make the call.

Then Giada planted her feet in the ground and refused to keep going. The suspect snapped something at her angrily, and she made a sharp retort. Then the man raised his hand as if to slap her, but as he did so, he noticed Frank and Joe. Something must have clicked in his brain. All at once he turned and began dragging Giada away by force. She began screaming in protest.

Instantly, both Hardys sprang forward, Frank shoving his phone back into his pocket without making the call. There wasn't time now.

Trying to drag Giada along was slowing the man's progress, and Frank and Joe quickly closed the gap. Finally, the man gave up and let go of the girl's hand, running ahead. Joe poured on some extra speed to catch up to him, but Frank stopped at Giada's side. She recognized him as one of her neighbors at home and, despite the language barrier, threw her arms around his waist and began sobbing.

" _Va bene_ ," Frank reassured her.

Meanwhile, now that the suspect wasn't held back by his victim, Joe was having a hard time catching up to him. Joe kept himself in good shape, but this guy was fast. He led him to a part of the waterfront that was mostly warehouses. It was late enough in the day that most of the people working there had gone home, and Joe didn't see a soul.

The suspect made a dash for a warehouse door, but apparently, it was locked. He pounded at it for a moment, as if he expected someone to open it from inside, but no one did. This gave Joe the time he needed. He ran into the man, tackling him to the ground. The two began to struggle.

Despite the suspect's ability in running, he wasn't much of a fighter, and it took Joe only a few moments to subdue him. The suspect lay flat on his back, panting and thoroughly winded.

"Okay, buddy, get up." Joe stood up and prodded the man with his toe.

A noise behind him startled Joe. He whirled around to find another man facing him, this one wielding a gun. Then, before Joe even had time to take that much in, something drove itself into his right calf. He fell to his knees with something between a scream and a groan of misery.


	27. Chapter 26: Prisoners

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Highflyer, BMSH, EvergreenDreamweaver, Robot Wolf 26Z, Candylou, Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, RadiantEyes, and max2013 for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XXVI

Prisoners

 _December 1 – River Heights_

The news report had already broadcasted. Now it was only a matter of time before the bomber would reveal him- or herself. Nancy had dropped enough hints in that interview that whoever it was, they were probably getting nervous just about now as to whether Nancy knew about them or not. That nervousness could take any number of channels.

They could try to leave town, so the police were keeping a close eye on the airport for anyone who had already been identified as a person of interest. Of course, even if they left, it wouldn't prove that they were guilty. Then, also, they could leave by car, which would be harder to monitor and impossible to know exactly where they were going. However, leaving could tip Nancy and the police off as to who was guilty.

The police would also go around to all the suspects they had and interview them again. Any of them acting unduly nervous or giving an overdone show of innocence could indicate that the interview had struck a chord with them, especially since all the detectives assigned to this task had been instructed to mention the interview and note the suspects' reactions. This, too, could give an indication of guilt.

The possibility that concerned Nancy and Chief McGinnis the most was that the person had already set a bomb for an unknown reason. They might not be above trying to silence Nancy permanently. At the same time, they both knew that if the culprit tried something like that, it would be their best chance of catching. Accordingly, McGinnis had every man he could spare guarding the hospital, as well as Carson's home and Ned's parents'. In fact, right at the moment, the chief himself was taking a shift.

The door to Nancy's room opened, and she jumped a little, surprising herself by how nervous she was. She relaxed when she saw it was Carson.

"Dad! This is a surprise. You already came to visit once today."

"I know," Carson replied. "I had to get special permission. I've got some concerning news from Ned."

"Did anything happen to him?" Nancy asked quickly, sitting up straighter and feeling her heart seem to stop for a moment.

"No, he's fine," Carson reassured her. "He called saying an old acquaintance was involved in one of the cases, and since they all seem like they could be related, he's afraid they might have something to do with this one."

Nancy caught her breath. Because of the potential danger in talking about Black Rose over the phone, she and her family used "old acquaintance" as a code word for them. So Black Rose might be behind the bombing. And Nancy had set herself up as a target.

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Rome_

As soon as he had reassured Giada that everything was going to be all right, Frank called George to tell her where he was. She and Alyssa arrived a few minutes later.

"Alyssa called the police," George explained excitedly as she got into hearing distance of Frank. "Where's Joe? And the kidnapper?"

"The kidnapper made a break for it," Frank explained. "Joe went after him. He might need help."

"I'll go look for him," Alyssa offered. "You two better stay here with the kid until the police get here."

She hurried off, and Frank and George began to wait. Neither of them spoke Italian well enough to ask Giada for her story, so they had to wait for the police to arrive and talk to her. It was only another few minutes before they came, with Edmund Wight arriving shortly after them. He interpreted Giada's story for Frank and George.

"She says the man who kidnapped her is a friend of her parents. His name is Manuel Sciarra. He offered to take her for a ride in his new car, and she thought it was all right. He took her to his house and gave her some supper. Then he told her that her parents had called him and asked if Giada could stay at his flat for the weekend. Giada says her parents sometimes have her stay with friends or relatives for a weekend if they were going on a weekend trip. She thought it was strange, but she didn't think Sciarra would lie to her. He's had her at his place ever since, and she's been getting more suspicious the whole time. He wouldn't let her out and he said he couldn't call her parents. He was careful to keep an eye on her, probably so she couldn't contact anyone. Then, today, he said they would come down to the docks for a walk. They walked around for a while, and then he said they were going to meet someone. Giada didn't like the sound of this, so she started to resist. Then you and Joe came along, Frank."

"Did he… hurt her at all?" Frank asked.

"No. I can't figure it out." Wight scratched his head. "Hopefully your brother got him so we can question Sciarra."

Frank looked down at his watch. It had been a long time since Joe had taken off in pursuit of the suspect. By now, either he must have caught him or Sciarra must have gotten away. Whichever it was, Joe should have been back by now.

"Maybe we'd better go look for him," George suggested, guessing what Frank was thinking.

"Yeah. I think so," Frank replied. "You don't need us around here anymore, Mr. Wight?"

"No, go ahead," Wight told him. "Why don't you just call him, though?"

"If he was in a position to answer his phone, he'd be calling me," Frank explained. "As it is, he's either got his phone on silent and won't answer or he's still after the suspect and either he can't answer or his phone ringing will alert the guy or both. I think we'd better just go ahead and look for him."

He and George set out, Frank checking his phone several times to see if Joe had texted. They met Alyssa a short way down the dock. She had a grim expression on her face.

"Did you find him?" Frank asked anxiously.

"No," Alyssa admitted, "but you'd better take a look at what I did find."

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Rome_

A short time earlier and not very far away, Joe was falling to his hands and knees, his leg screaming in protest at the pain that was ripping through it. As if in slow motion, he fell to his side and tried to make a grab for his leg, as if holding onto it could stop the pain. Before he could, the suspect he had pursued and thought he had captured, picked himself up and retrieved his knife, yanking it out of Joe's leg. Another bombshell of pain exploded in Joe's brain, and he thought he was going to pass out. He wished he could.

The two men – the one who had stabbed him and the one with the gun – began a short conference. Joe couldn't catch what they were saying, but he couldn't be sure whether that was because they were using very low tones, they were speaking in a foreign language, or he couldn't focus on anything except the pain in his leg. At the moment, he didn't really care.

The two men grabbed Joe roughly by the arms and yanked him to his feet. Then they dragged him into the warehouse that the one suspect had been trying to get into a few minutes before – the other man must have had the key. It was dark inside, and once they had the door closed behind them, they dropped Joe to the ground.

He lay there for a moment, fighting unconsciousness. At first, he had thought he'd rather pass out and escape all this for a time, but now his survival skills were beginning to kick in. He was losing blood quickly, and it didn't look like either of these two guys were going to do anything about it. If he didn't want to bleed to death, he was going to have to take care of it himself.

He forced himself to sit up, shaking his head to try to clear his dizziness. As gently as he could, he eased his pantleg up so that he could examine the wound underneath it. He almost gagged when he saw it, but he forced himself to think coolly about it. It really should be cleaned, but he didn't have anything to clean it with. The best he could do was take off his jacket, fold it over several times, and then tie it as snugly as he could around the wound.

After that, he sank back onto the floor, trying to focus on breathing and not on the pain. He noticed that the two men had gotten into an argument, but whatever they were saying to each other was in Italian, and he didn't understand it. Finally, the one who had stabbed him left in a fury, and the other looked down at Joe, shaking his head. Joe noticed for the first time that this man was short and very heavy. He glared down at Joe for a moment before he asked him a question in Italian. Joe didn't understand a word of it and made no response.

"Do you speak English?" the man questioned next.

Again, Joe didn't answer, but the man must have seen a flicker of understanding in his face.

"What's your name?" he asked. Joe said nothing. "If you cooperate with me, I'll get you to a doctor," the man went on. "Your leg is injured very badly. We will make this trade: your life for your name."

Joe hesitated a moment. Then he replied haltingly, "Joe… Hardy." After all, he had ID on him. This guy would be able to find out who he was anyway.

A few more minutes passed, and two other men arrived. They carried Joe out a different door and put him in the back of a truck. He faded in and out of consciousness during the drive. Finally, he woke up to find himself lying on a table. The heavy man, who seemed to be a ringleader, was standing near his head with the two men who had carried him hanging out in the background. An elderly man was bandaging Joe's leg.

"What's… going on?" Joe asked.

"The doctor I promised," the heavyset man replied.

The elderly man, clearly the doctor, scowled at him. He gave Joe a more sympathetic look, patted his shoulder, and said a few kind-sounding words in Italian.

"He doesn't entirely approve of how I earn my livelihood," the heavy man explained to Joe. "Unfortunately, he says your leg will take several weeks to heal. That will take too long. I'll have to change my plans in regards to you."

He spoke again to his henchmen, and they picked Joe up and carried him down a long hallway. The heavy man unlocked a door by placing his hand on an electronic scanner. The door opened into another hallway, this one unmistakably a cell block with about a dozen cells. The door to one was opened, Joe was quickly dropped inside, and then the door was slammed shut. It wasn't a moment too soon, either, for the second it was opened another man who was already in that cell made a leap for the door. There was no real possibility of him getting out, though, as Joe noticed that he was brought up short by a chain attached to his wrist that only allowed him to go as far forward as the door.

"Enrico!" he shouted. "You filthy worm! I swear I'll kill you!" He followed up his threat with a torrent of insults and expletives, but men paid no attention to him. Even after they left, he kept muttering more of the same things. Then he went and sat in a corner, paying no attention to Joe.

Joe painfully pulled himself up to sit with his back against the wall. The cell was filthy with old, cracked, concrete walls and a damp concrete floor.

"Looks like we're going to be roommates," Joe observed, trying to keep his voice light. "You're an American from your accent?"

"What's it to you?" the other muttered.

"My name's Joe."

"I'm going to kill him," the man went on. "One of these times…"

Joe sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He felt weak and tired, and his leg still felt like it was on fire. A hopelessness settled over him. What was going to happen now?

Hours dragged past. Joe fell asleep and woke up several times in the interval. When he was awake, he would watch his cellmate. The fellow certainly seemed to have no interest in talking to him, even though Joe had quite a few questions he'd like to ask him. Then, also, the longer Joe watched him, the more he felt convinced that there was something familiar about him.

"Angelo?" he said suddenly at one point when he was feeling stronger.

The man turned to look at him. "How do you know my name?"

"I think we met once, briefly," Joe replied. "You remember, with the taser."

Angelo glared at him a moment. "Were you the guy who came busting into my apartment? You following me or something?"

"I've been looking for you, yes," Joe told.

"Well, you found me. Congratulations." Angelo settled back against the wall. He didn't say anything for a few moments, but then he asked, "My brother send you?"

Joe nodded. "And your uncle. They're worried about you."

Angelo scoffed. "More like they're worried I'll cause trouble for them. And I would, after I got done with Enrico, if I could get out of this place."

There were several questions Joe could have asked Angelo now that a line of communication had been started, and he had a hard time choosing which one. Finally, he settled on: "Who's Enrico?"

"That fat guy that tossed you in here," Angelo said. "Sniveling, little… Well, I guess 'little' is hardly the right word to describe him. I don't think there's a word invented that could."

Joe winced as he moved his leg slightly to try to shift his position. "What are you doing here? For that matter, what am I doing here? What is this place?"

"Some detective Mario and Giovanni sent after me." Angelo snorted in contempt. "Enrico's got his finger in just about every pie there is. I didn't know about this one. If I would have, I would have steered clear of him. When he said I'd pay my debts one way or another, this isn't what I was thinking."

"Why don't you tell me everything that happened?" Joe suggested. "At least you can have the small comfort of complaining to someone."

Angelo nodded. "All right. You want to hear the true story, as opposed to whatever Mario told you, then I'll tell you…"


	28. Chapter 27: The Bomber

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Caranath, BMSH, Candylou (don't worry – Giada's kidnapper's motives will get explained before the end of the story), Cherylann Rivers, max2013, Highflyer, and Newtothis351 for your reviews on the last chapter! Thanks for waiting a couple of extra days for this chapter, as well. This is officially the beginning of the climax._

Chapter XXVII

The Bomber

 _December 1 – Rome_

Frank stared down at the small pool of blood that Alyssa Roche had shown him, his apprehension growing. It was right outside the door of a warehouse, but when Frank tried it, it was locked.

"Of course, this doesn't necessarily mean anything," Alyssa commented.

"It's still fresh," Frank argued. "Whatever happened here happened only a few minutes ago, and that's exactly when Joe must have been in this area. Come on. Let's get some more people together and start searching."

A number of police officers were rounded up, and the riverfront area was combed thoroughly, but no sign of Joe or Manuel Sciarra could be found. Frank and George called and texted Joe's phone numerous times, but there was never any response.

It was dark by the time Frank sank wearily into the back seat of Edmund Wight's car. "I'd better call Callie," he said numbly, trying to keep any emotion out of his voice. "She'll be worried about me."

He fumbled for his phone, still trying decide exactly what and how he was going to tell Callie. Knowing that something had happened to Joe wouldn't allay her fears for Frank at all, not to mention that she would worry over Joe now, too. Frank would have to reassure her somehow.

There was a lot he could tell her that would help. For one, they couldn't be certain that anything had happened to Joe at all. The blood that Alyssa had found could be completely unrelated. The chase could have just taken Joe away from the docks, and he could either simply not be answering his phone or not hearing it or he might have even lost it. Without his phone, he couldn't call for a ride, so he was probably walking back and it was taking him a long time.

Frank would never convince Callie of that. Mostly because he himself knew it wasn't true. It had been several hours now. It wouldn't take Joe this long to walk back, and besides, if he had lost his phone, he would have found a public telephone by now and called Frank.

"Frank, are you okay?" Callie asked as soon as she answered the phone.

"I'm okay, honey," Frank replied, trying to keep his voice even. He decided at the last minute that it would be better to tell her everything in person. "I'm going to be a little longer. I'll be back late. Don't wait up for me."

"Frank, did something happen?" Callie could hear the distress in his voice.

"Yes," Frank admitted. "But it might not be as bad as it looks. I'll tell you in the morning. But don't worry. It'll probably be all resolved in the morning."

Just then, Alyssa knocked on the window. Frank gave her an annoyed look, but she insisted. Then he thought that maybe she thought of something, so his opened the door.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking," Alyssa said, "if Black Rose has your brother, this could be the best break I've ever had."

"What?" Frank glared at her dumbfounded. "How could you possibly…"

"Did he put that tracker I gave him on the car?" Alyssa interrupted.

Frank's heart gave a leap of hope. "No. He still has it on him."

HBNDHBND

 _December 1 – Somewhere_

"Do you have any idea what it's like to have your parents murdered and be left to take care of a younger brother and sister when you're still a kid yourself?" Angelo began his tirade. "There I was with nobody to turn to. You'd think there would have been somebody, but no. The entire family wanted nothing to do with Dad, so they weren't about to help us."

"Did you ask them?" Joe broke in. "I mean, if you would have gone to a single one of them, I doubt they would have turned you out on the streets. If they really didn't want you, they would have turned you over to the authorities. As it was, you must have been hiding from them."

"Do you blame me?" Angelo defended himself. "I knew none of them would take us, and would you want to be put in the foster system?"

"No, but it can't be any worse than living on the streets," Joe pointed out. "Anyway, I thought there was someone taking care of you."

Angelo scoffed. "For what it was worth, which wasn't much. We still had nothing but a roof over our heads. It was some people who knew Dad and felt like they owed a debt, but they didn't have anything, and were crooks to boot."

"I suppose you have plenty of room to talk there," Joe replied.

Angelo gave him a disdainful look. "I didn't then. They couldn't provide for us, so I still had to. I tried to get jobs, but the money from those didn't go far. Of course, Mario was always too worthless to do anything, except to be a street performer. A street performer! The humiliation of it! It's hardly any different from panhandling. But that's all he knew how to do: a few worthless magic tricks. I didn't have any choice but to find other ways to make money."

"Why didn't you go to Father Giovanni?" Joe asked.

"Oh, sure. Dear, dear Uncle Giovanni." Angelo grimaced. "He doesn't care about us. He never did. At least, not until Mario got the idea to become a priest. Of course, he didn't want anything to do with any of us until one of us could make him look good."

"You know…" Joe's leg was beginning to hurt again horribly, and Angelo's whining, bitter complaining was beginning to give him a headache. "You know, I don't know your brother and your uncle all that well, but you're wrong about them."

"Oh?" Angelo asked contemptuously. "I suppose you know all about human nature and can tell a good man from a mile away. It's the collar, isn't it? That's what has you believing them instead of me."

"Partly, I guess," Joe admitted. "At least it shows that they've done something for someone else besides themselves. But even more than that, I've seen it firsthand. I was in trouble, big trouble, and they helped me out, even though they'd never met me before and I was putting them in danger, too."

"And I suppose you can tell everything about a man by that," Angelo muttered.

"Well, a lot more than you can by listening to a man's bitter brother who has barely spoken to him in I'm not even sure how many years," Joe pointed out bluntly. "Anyway, I didn't want your whole life story. I wanted to know how you got here, where this is, who the people who put us in here are, and what the prospects of escaping are. You have been scoping out escape options, haven't you?"

"I haven't even been here twenty-four hours," Angelo grumbled.

"Okay." Joe sighed and then winced as he moved his injured leg wrong. "We'll work on that. How about the rest of it?"

Indecision worked itself over Angelo's face for a moment, but then he said, "I don't see how that's any of your business, at least about how I got in here."

"Well, I can guess. You were in some sort of illegal deal with Enrico, and something went wrong. You ended up owing him a lot of money that you couldn't repay. He threatened you, and you assumed he planned on killing you, so you did everything you could to get the money, but you still failed in the end. He then kidnapped you and put you in here, where his plans for are very bleak because if he doesn't plan on killing you anyway, he's up to his neck in a human trafficking deal. That leaves just two questions: What was the deal you had with Enrico? And why did you come to Rome?"

"Like I said, it's none of your business."

Joe decided to keep talking. If he could guess most of it, Angelo might give in and fill out any remaining details. "As for the deal, it was probably drugs, right? You were selling them for Enrico. I still can't figure out why you'd come to Rome. Plead for mercy? Try to kill Enrico before he could kill you? Either one sounds like a bad idea. There's a guy trying to kill you, so you just go to his home to make it easier for him?" He shook his head.

"I was making it easier on me," Angelo said. "Enrico could have found me anywhere. I couldn't hide anywhere. I figured maybe if I gave myself up, he'd give me a second chance."

"So much for that plan," Joe commented drily.

"You don't understand what's going on, do you?" Angelo replied. "I don't know exactly what I've walked into, but I know it's big and there's no getting out of it. I had nothing to lose, so I took my chance. I'm still alive, and it's looking like they plan on keeping me that way, so that's the best I can ask for."

"The best you can ask for?" Joe repeated. "It's starting to sound like you don't have any intention of getting out of here."

Angelo shook his head. "I couldn't escape before I was locked up, so I can't escape now. Especially not to help some gimped up detective that my brother sent after me. You might as well give up before you wind up getting yourself killed."

"I'd rather die trying to get free than live in these conditions."

Angelo leaned against the wall of the cell, all the fight he'd shown earlier having apparently faded from him. "You're a couple of hundred years too late if you were hoping to be a poster child for the American Revolution. It's not worth dying over."

Joe blinked. "I don't get it. Earlier, you were ready to tear Enrico apart with your bare hands, and now you're just sitting there like this is all fine."

"That was just talk," Angelo replied, not meeting Joe's eyes. "For a detective who was supposed to be looking for me, you don't know a whole lot about me, do you? I talk like that sometimes. It doesn't mean a thing."

"Don't you want out of here?" Joe asked.

"It's not a question of whether I want to be in here or not," Angelo said. "It's a question of whether I want to be in here and alive, or dead. Those are the only options. And I'm sure somebody as perfect as you couldn't understand this, but I may have done a few things that won't look so good for me in the hereafter."

Joe sighed. "Great. This is just my luck: to get stabbed, kidnapped by the most despicable brand of human being alive, and my only person who can possibly help me escape is too scared to try it."

"I'm not scared," Angelo shot back. "I just don't want to die. Like I said, obviously you can't understand it."

"So, do you plan on just putting off dying forever? You're going to have to face it sometime."

"Then I'll deal with it when I can't get around it anymore. I don't care about your arguments. They're not going to convince me. If you want to try to bust out of here and get killed for your trouble, that's not my problem."

Joe leaned his head back against the wall. He was going to have to figure something out. He thought and prayed about it for several minutes before he happened to put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His phone, money, identification, and just about everything else had been taken away from him, of course, but he felt something tiny in his pocket. He pulled it out and recognized it immediately. It was the tracker that Alyssa had given him to put on the suspect's car.

HBNDHBND

 _December 2 – River Heights_

Ned hurried past the police officers stationed throughout the hospital. After he had heard what Nancy had said in the interview, he had been able to guess what her plan had been. He had redoubled his efforts to find a way to get home from New York immediately, but had had no luck and had had to wait for Rachel Doving to finish fixing her plane after all. The minute they had landed in River Heights, Ned had gotten a taxi and headed straight for the hospital.

Given the special circumstances, Nancy's doctor had relaxed the visitation rules immensely, and Ned was allowed to go right in. As soon as he came through the door of her room, Nancy brightened immensely.

"Ned! I thought you were still stuck in New York."

Ned leaned forward and kissed her. "I just got back. Are you all right?"

"Yes," Nancy assured him and then blushed a little. "I might have made a mistake, though."

"I know," Ned replied, holding her hand. "It'll be fine, though. There's practically an army of police officers out there."

Nancy smiled. "Chief McGinnis wasn't so sure it was a good idea from the start. He didn't try to say, 'I told you so,' at least. We're pretty lucky to live in a town where the police are so sympathetic about what we do."

"It would be nice if the media was a little more sympathetic," Ned commented.

"That does get pretty old," Nancy agreed, "but I guess that's going to be about the same anywhere."

"Yeah." Ned paused, one of the many events of the last few days taking the forefront of his thoughts.

Nancy noticed his expression. "What is it? Is something else the matter?"

"No," Ned told her. He had been about to tell her all about it, but then he realized it might be a better topic to bring up when there weren't so many other things on Nancy's mind. It came as a moment of relief, then, when a male nurse came into the room and began checking the medical equipment off to one side, interrupting Ned.

It was not such a relief to Nancy. She gave Ned an uncertain glance and then turned to the nurse. "Um, excuse me, but do want something?"

The nurse turned to her with a reassuring smile. "Just checking the equipment. I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

Nancy didn't say anything more, but she watched him closely, biting her lip as she tried to decide what to do. True to his word, the nurse finished whatever he was doing quickly and left with a friendly wave to Nancy and Ned.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Nancy turned to Ned. "They've never done anything like that before, especially since I've been recovering and they haven't had to monitor me as closely."

"And that equipment would be a perfect place to hide a small bomb," Ned completed her thought.

He had no sooner said it than he was out of his chair, examining the equipment in question. Nancy, unable to sit still whatever the doctor's orders, jumped up and was at his side immediately. It took a very few moments before Nancy pointed out a small device.

"That looks like an explosive," she said.

Ned nodded in agreement. "Please tell me McGinnis thought of it to have the bomb squad on call out there."

Nancy smiled faintly. "Given this guy's MO, that wouldn't have been a bad idea."

Ned suddenly picked her up.

"What are you doing?" Nancy protested.

"Getting you out of here," Ned replied. "The cops can deal with the bomb – if that's what it is – better than we can."

Not taking "no" for an answer, he carried her out into the hall, where he explained to the nearest police officer. The man paled slightly, and then instantly got on his radio and began summoning help while Ned and Nancy escaped down the hallway.

"How did that guy get past the police?" Nancy asked. "They've been checking everyone who comes into my room very carefully."

"In that case, he must really be a nurse," Ned replied. "And we can find out who he is."

They hurried toward the nearest nurse's station, but before they reached it, by some stroke of luck, they spotted the very man they were looking for. He noticed them at the same moment, and his eyes went wide. Then he turned on his heel and sprinted for the elevator. Ned set Nancy down and took off in pursuit.


	29. Chapter 28: Betrayed

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you all so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Candylou, Robot Wolf 26Z, Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, max2013, Highflyer, and EvergreenDreamweaver for your reviews on the last chapter!_

Chapter XXVIII

Betrayed

 _December 2 – River Heights_

People were milling all throughout the hospital hallways, and Ned had a hard time dodging around them as he pursued the nurse who had left what was almost certainly an explosive in Nancy's room. The nurse was headed for the elevator, and Ned knew that he had a good chance of escaping if he reached it. With that in mind, Ned poured on whatever extra speed he could.

He tackled the nurse just before he reached the elevator doors, accompanied by startled cries from everyone around. He prepared himself for a fight – in fact, he was hoping for a chance at throwing a few punches – but the nurse surrendered without one.

"Don't hit me!" he pleaded, putting his arms up to protect his face. "Please. It wasn't my idea. I wouldn't have done it, but he didn't give me any choice."

Ned pulled him roughly to his feet. "Who didn't?"

"McGregor," the nurse said wretchedly. "He… he threatened me."

"With what?" Ned asked quickly.

"Um… I…" the nurse blundered about for a moment. "He's a maniac. I thought he's kill me."

"Uh-huh," Ned replied, not believing the story. "Let's go see if they've gotten that bomb you planted deactivated."

He tried to drag the nurse forward, but the man planted his feet and refused to move. He was sweating and clearly nervous.

"We can't," he protested. "It's not very big. As long as we're not in that part of the hospital when it goes off, we'll be fine."

"How much time before it goes off?" Ned demanded.

"I don't know," the nurse said. "He didn't tell me. He didn't want me to give any sign that I knew it was going to happen."

Despite the nurse's protests, Ned led him back to where Nancy was waiting. Officer Starr was already there, asking Nancy what had happened.

"Here's the guy who did it." Ned pulled the nurse forward. "He says he was put up to it by Carl McGregor, who threatened him."

"Is that so?" Starr replied. "Hold on. Don't answer that yet." He quickly read the man his rights, and then he asked, "What's your name?"

"Art Carpenter," the nurse replied sullenly.

"How about you explain exactly what happened from the beginning?" Starr requested.

Carpenter licked his lips nervously. "Well, it was just like I told this other guy. McGregor is crazy. He told me that if I didn't plant the bomb, he… he would put a bomb in my house. I didn't have any choice."

"That's debatable," Starr said. "But I wanted the whole story. Why did McGregor want this bomb planted?"

"He thought she was onto him." Carpenter nodded his head toward Nancy. "You know, for blowing up his store. He wanted to make sure she couldn't him."

"How was it that he picked you to plant the bomb?" Starr continued.

"I… I don't know." Carpenter threw his hands out at a loss. "I… guess he… since I work here, he figured I could do it easier than most people."

"Not as easily as the nurses who work in that part of the hospital, though," Nancy said. "I've never seen you before. If it had been one of them, I wouldn't have been so suspicious, and the plan would have actually worked."

"If McGregor really was behind this," Ned replied, "he must have had some reason for knowing this guy would go along with it. Otherwise, it would have been a huge risk to even approach. Anyone halfway decent would have told the police about it, threat or no threat."

"Especially since the police would have had time to arrest McGregor before he could carry out the threat," Nancy added pointedly.

"No!" Carpenter protested. "There wasn't any time. He only talked to me less than an hour ago. All I could think about was him blowing up my house. I couldn't think about anything else. If I would have had time to think, I wouldn't have done it. I swear."

Starr folded his arms and shook his head. "You must have had more than an hour to think it over. Carl McGregor is one of our main persons of interest. We've been keeping a close watch on him since yesterday. In fact, that's where I was assigned just before I got here ten minutes ago. I can personally guarantee that he wasn't making any deals with you less than an hour ago."

Carpenter's shoulders slumped, and he refused to say another word.

HBNDHBND

 _December 2 – Somewhere_

"Hey, Hardy."

Someone grabbed Joe by the arm and roughly hauled him to his feet. Joe moaned with pain. Although he had been given medical attention, he had been given nothing for the pain, and his leg was hurting more with every passing hour.

"Enrico wants to talk to you," the thug who had grabbed him said. "He's got a proposition for you."

He dragged Joe back out the hallway he had been brought in through the day before. They reached a door which led into a small office. Enrico was sitting at a desk, and four other men were standing around in addition to the one who had brought Joe. Joe was allowed to sit a comfortable chair opposite Enrico's desk.

Enrico leaned back in his chair, making it creak. "Well, now, Hardy, I've been doing some research on you. I must say, I was delighted to learn that it was one of the Bayport Hardys that I had as a guest."

"Much more delighted than I am," Joe replied.

"Yes, I suppose you would think so," Enrico said. "However, this does not need to be so very unpleasant for you. You could be of great use to me."

Joe raised an eyebrow in disgust. "I think I'll pass."

Enrico chuckled. "You make decisions quickly and don't waste time. I can appreciate that, and so I will get to the point. My name, as your roommate last night may have told you, is Enrico. I'm a businessman, although most people would call me a criminal. I assure you, I have the same respect for humanity as any other businessman. If it helps me to help you, I will do so, and if it helps me to hurt you, I will do that also, just like any other businessman."

"What's your point?" Joe asked.

"My point is that I have a proposition for you that will be mutually beneficial to us both. A man like you could be of extraordinarily great help to me, and a man like me could do much for you."

"I don't see how I could help you. If you want to get my brother off the case…"

Enrico interrupted him by bursting into laughter. "Your brother? You do have a very high opinion of yourself and your family, don't you? Your brother is far from my biggest concern. If it was only him and his wife, I would make a second and more successful attempt to have him assassinated. As it is, though, your brother could also prove to be of very great use, through your cooperation, of course. No, I'll make it very plain what I want. In the last couple of days, you have been in association with a woman who is calling herself, I believe, Alyssa Roche."

Joe did his best to keep an absolutely straight face. Until he knew exactly what Enrico was getting at, he didn't want to give him any help of any kind.

Enrico waited a moment and then went on, "Well, we know for a fact that you have been. She is the first person to our knowledge who has made the connection between our business ventures and Black Rose. She needs to be persuaded that there is no connection."

"But there is," Joe supplied. "You're Black Rose?"

Again, Enrico laughed. It was beginning to get on Joe nerves. "Am I Black Rose?" Enrico repeated. "No, but also yes."

Joe stared at him blankly for a moment. "I assume you're going to explain that. You said you were going to make this very plain."

"So I will," Enrico agreed. "I am more Black Rose than anyone you've met, but I can't actually be Black Rose since there is no Black Rose."

"So, it is just a conspiracy theory?" This wasn't making much sense.

"No, not 'just' a conspiracy theory. It is a conspiracy theory, but one used to its full potential. It's not like saying that the moon landing was faked, which is just a story invented by people with either too much imagination or too little who are trying to make themselves feel better. It has a much more specific person."

"For someone who was going to get right to the point, you certainly are taking a long time doing it."

"I suppose so." Enrico smiled slightly. "Black Rose is not real. We invented it. We were behind the first attacks, as well as a few others here and there, but our goal wasn't terrorism. Our goal was to create something terrifying. Something that would catch the attention of people like you. Something, also, that others could make use of. We have to do very little to perpetuate the myth of Black Rose. There are plenty of others who want to settle a grudge or live out a fantasy or make some easy money and who hide behind the elusive Black Rose. They don't know that Black Rose isn't real, but it is a handy scapegoat for them, so they blame their actions on it."

"You mean like Emily Jacobs did to me last year," Joe supplied, the whole thing starting to make sense now. "In other words, it's just like the Red Arrow."*

"I'm not familiar with this," Enrico replied.

"It's supposedly an organized crime syndicate back in Bayport," Joe explained. "Whenever someone gets on their bad side, they paint a red arrow on their home or business as a warning and then a few days later, that person gets killed or their home or business burned, or something like that. The thing is, all I've ever seen of it was other people using the red arrow to scare people."

"It's exactly like that."

"There's just one thing," Joe went on. "Why? I can see what good this might do other criminals, but what good is it doing for you?"

"It's a distraction," Enrico said. "Whenever someone starts getting too close to our real organization, Black Rose makes a strike somewhere nearby. Everyone gets far more excited over a real act of terror than over a rumor of some other crime. With the confusion that the apparent involvement of Black Rose inevitably makes, we have time to cover our tracks, lay false leads, and get whoever was causing us trouble off our scent. However, that's not going to work with Alyssa Roche, as she's gotten entirely too close to the truth. Black Rose acting now would only confirm her suspicions. I need you to convince her that her suspicions are wrong."

"How would I do that from here?" Joe asked.

"You wouldn't. We would set you free."  
Joe raised his eyebrows. "There's got to be a hitch somewhere."

"No hitch," Enrico assured him. "As I said, this would be mutually beneficial for us both. You'll be well-paid for your assistance. You can quickly convince Alyssa to follow some false lead. For that, I am willing to pay one million dollars in American money. After that, to ensure your silence about what you've learned here, you'll be paid a hundred thousand dollars a month for the rest of your life."

"And what if I refused?"

"We would find a way to persuade you."

Joe swallowed hard. As long as he had the tracker on him, it was only a matter of time before Frank would find him. All he had to do in the meantime was try to keep from being killed and preferably from being moved again, since that would just make things take longer. The best way to do that was probably to play along.

"A hundred thousand a month," he said. "That's one point two million a year. It would be a nice addition to my income, except for one thing. It would have to be laundered before I could spend it. I suppose you'd throw that in for free?"

"Certainly," Enrico agreed.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Another of Enrico's men came in, leading Angelo, who somehow was managing to look nervous and smug at the same time.

"He says he has something important to tell you, sir," the guard explained. "He says it can't wait."

Enrico sighed. "What is it now, Angelo? If you've come to plead for mercy again, I've already given you my answer for that."

"I've found a way to pay off my debt," Angelo announced. "I can do it right now."

"Oh? Did you suddenly inherit a fortune or something?" Enrico asked.

Angelo cast a glance at Joe. "Close enough. I've got a piece of information about him that you'll want to know."

"I'm afraid there's nothing pertinent about him that you can tell us that we don't already know."

"You don't know about this," Angelo insisted. "And you'd pay well for it. A couple of hundred thousand, at least, but I'll settle for my freedom and a plane ticket to wherever I want to go."

Enrico smiled indulgently, as if he was dealing with a child. "All right, all right. We'll see what this remarkable piece of information is, and if I didn't know it before and it is pertinent, your terms are easy enough to meet."

"He's a got a tracking device on him," Angelo blurted out.

" _What?_ " Enrico roared.

Instantly, three of the men made a grab for Joe, as if they expected him to escape. They began pulling at his clothes, intending to make a full search.

"It's in his jacket pocket," Angelo added. "At least, it was when I saw it."

One of the thugs ripped Joe's jacket off and tossed it to Enrico. It took him only a moment to find the tracker. He examined it for a moment and then dropped it on the floor and crushed it with his heel. Then he turned to Joe, fury burning in his eyes. He cuffed him violently on one side of the face and then on the other. Several more blows and kicks followed until Joe was lying on the floor, gasping for breath and barely holding onto consciousness.

"That's enough," Enrico's voice came dimly into Joe's head. It took all his concentration to understand what the words meant. "We'll finish with him later. Whoever's tracking him has had enough time to figure out where we are. We've got to clear out now. We'll move all the stock to the warehouse in Riva del Fiume."

Then blackness washed over Joe.

* _From The Hardy Boys Adventures #1: The Secret of the Red Arrow._


	30. Chapter 29: The Confrontation

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to Caranath, BMSH, and max2013 for your reviews since I posted the last chapter! I know there are more of you who are reading who always review, so I'm thinking a lot of you missed the last chapter. If you did, it has a couple of very big reveals, so be sure to go back and read it before you read this chapter! Oh, yeah, and I promise I won't keep you waiting more than twenty-four hours for the next chapter after this._

Chapter XXIX

The Confrontation

 _December 2 – Outside Rome_

Callie was awakened out of her restless sleep by the door to her room creaking open. She let out a small sigh of relief. Frank must be all right. She glanced at the clock next to her bed. It read four minutes to five o'clock. She sat up.

"Frank?"

"I'm right here." Frank came to sit down on the bed next to her. He tried to smile, but Callie could see a pained and worried look in his face. "You should be asleep."

"Where have you been?" Callie asked. "You said you'd be late, but it's practically the next morning now." She paused, reading Frank's miniscule reaction to her words. "What happened?"

"We found Giada," Frank began. "She's completely fine. She's just scared."

"And?" Callie prompted him, knowing that this good news would hardly have put her husband in this frame of mind.

Frank closed his eyes. "Joe went after the creep who had her. He didn't come back, and even though we made a complete search of the area, we didn't find him."

Callie took in a breath sharply, feeling as if her heart was twisting with worry within her.

"Don't worry," Frank assured her hastily. "We will find him. He had a tracking device on him, and we're on his trail. It shows that he's been taken out of the city and upriver quite a way. There's something with the GPS in the tracker, though, so it's taking a little time to figure out the exact place. I don't know what the deal is, but George and Alyssa are fighting over how to fix it. I thought I'd come talk to you while I waited."

Callie rested her head on his shoulder. There were a thousand things she could say about how she felt about this: how it proved her point about detective work not being worth the risks, how frightened she was for Joe, who was very much so a brother to her, how worried she was to have Frank go after him, what if she lost them both. But Frank didn't need to hear that now. However close Callie was to Joe and however devastated she would be if anything happened, it couldn't begin to compare with how Frank must be feeling. Right now, Callie needed to try to be the strong one.

"Of course, you'll find him," she managed to say. "You're the best detective in the world, after all."

"If I just would have done what you wanted," Frank said, his voice breaking, "none of this would have happened."

"No," Callie replied. "It would have happened anyway. Even if you would have the case, Joe wouldn't have given up his, and his cases led to this just as much as yours. It's not your fault."

"But you're still right."

Callie embraced him tightly. "Not right now. Right now you've got to go look for Joe. When he's safe will be the time to talk about what we're going to do next, but not before."

There didn't seem to be anything to say. The lack of sleep and the stress and worry of the past week and now this caught up to Frank. He buried his face in Callie's shoulder and wept as he seldom allowed himself to do.

HBNDHBND

 _December 2 – Along the Tiber River_

Frank hardly said a word as he sat the back seat of the car with George. For once, she was mercifully quiet, although Alyssa, who was driving, was keeping up a constant stream of chatter, with Edmund Wight, who was in the front passenger seat, occasionally getting the chance to interject a few words.

Alyssa had finally surrendered the GPS unit that tracked the device that Joe had with him to George, and George had fixed it in a matter of minutes. It took all Frank's willpower not to show his fury toward Alyssa for not letting George look at it sooner and wasting so much time, but he bit his tongue. After all, if Alyssa hadn't been there, they wouldn't have had a tracker at all and would have had no way to find Joe.

Frank kept his eye on the blinking light that showed Joe's position on the device on the dashboard. It hadn't moved since George had fixed the GPS. That meant that they hadn't moved Joe in the last few hours. That could be a good thing, or it could mean that… Frank would just focus on that it was a good thing. If it wasn't, there would be plenty of time to worry about that later.

"We're almost there," Wight commented. "There's no town where it's indicating, but there must be something there. We need to keep our eyes open for anywhere that a prisoner could be kept in case the GPS isn't completely accurate."

Just then, the light blinked out.

"Speaking of which," George commented. "Here, let me see it again. I can probably fix it again."

"We had about another couple kilometers to go," Alyssa said. "Let's keep watching. We'll probably get there before George can fix it."

Frank sat at the edge of the seat. There was nothing along this stretch of the river that looked like a headquarters for an organization like Black Rose, but then maybe that was why they had chosen this place. On the other hand, maybe while they had been taking Joe wherever they were taking him, they had discovered the tracker and thrown it out the window, ruining any chance Frank and the others had of finding Joe. Or maybe, whether they had found the tracker or not, they had decided Joe was too big of a liability to keep around and they had… Again, Frank forced himself not to think that. Whether it was true or not, thinking about it wouldn't help matters.

A few minutes passed, and George announced in puzzlement, "This GPS seems to be working perfectly. It's just not receiving any signal. Something must have gone wrong on Joe's end."

All four of them looked at one another. They all realized that the most likely thing to have gone wrong was that the tracker had been discovered and destroyed. That meant that whoever had Joe knew that help was on the way. They didn't have much time now… if they had any time left at all. Alyssa pressed the accelerator a little harder, and the others all kept their eyes glued to either side of the road. There was nothing left to do but watch and pray that they would see something.

Fifteen kilometers down the road, Alyssa slowed and pulled to the side of the road. "We've gone too far. I'm sure that signal wasn't this far down the road."

"We can't wait for our backup," Wight said. "Two of us should stay in the car and go back the way we came. The other two should keep going on foot. If it's ahead of us still, it has to be close. Whoever finds something first will call the others."

"I don't think we've gone far enough," George added. "I'll go ahead on foot."

"I'll go with you," Frank offered.

"Wait." Wight held out a handgun to Frank. "It's not legal for you to carry this here, but I think this is one time when it's wiser not to go strictly by the book."

Frank nodded and accepted the gun, and then he and George got out of the car and started walking. They trotted along, looking carefully all around them as they went, for another kilometer or so. Finally, they spotted a complex of warehouse-looking buildings next to the water. Frank and George exchanged glances, and then cautiously approached.

They were about to round the corner of one building when a truck came roaring out past it. Both detectives froze, hoping the driver was going fast enough that he wouldn't see them. Apparently, he didn't notice them; at least, he didn't stop or give any sign of seeing them.

Frank gestured to George to back up flat against the wall while he peered around the corner to see if there were any more trucks coming. There were none in motion, but two more were parked and several armed men were standing around them. Frank felt his stomach roil when he saw several people, primarily women, being herded in the back of one truck.

He turned back to George. "This is it," he whispered. "You'd better text Alyssa."

HBNDHBND

 _December 2 – Along the Tiber River_

Joe felt a little life returning to him, though every inch of him cried out in pain. The worst was his leg that had already been stabbed. He gingerly rolled onto his side and tried to bend his leg so that he could see it. From the red that was staining his pants leg, he concluded the wound must have been reopened. He let himself finish rolling onto his back and gave a small moan.

From this vantage point, he could see that door to the office was open. Maybe in their rush to get away, Enrico and the others had forgotten him. Maybe they were already gone. He had to get out of here and try get somewhere where he could get some help.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he rolled back over onto his stomach and struggled onto his hands and knees. That wasn't too bad on his leg, since he had been stabbed beneath the knee. He could do this. He began to crawl, grunting as his bruised legs protested the exercise. He hadn't even gotten to the door before his line of sight was blocked by a pair of legs.

"'Hardy' is an appropriate name for you, isn't it?" commented Enrico, who was standing in the doorway. "You're not going to escape, though. Come on. You'll make it easier for me if you walk down to the river by yourself."

 _Walk?_ Joe thought, but even as he was thinking it, Enrico hauled him to his feet. His right leg buckled beneath him, and the pain was enough to bring tears to eyes. There was no way he could have stood upright by himself, but Enrico held him firmly as he half-dragged him down the hall and outside. Then they made their way down to a dock extending out into the river. Enrico pulled him to the very end of it.

"I don't want them to find the body here if I can help it," Enrico explained. "With a little luck, this whole thing won't end in total disaster and maybe I could eventually use this place again. At least, the river can take care of you."

He raised his gun and pressed the muzzle against Joe's temple. There was enough wit left to Joe's foggy brain to wonder whether he would feel anything and wish that he had more than a fraction of a second to prepare himself for eternity.

"Stop!"

The sudden voice sounded familiar. Enrico, without taking the gun from Joe's temple, whirled him around to face his unexpected opponent. He tightened his grip on Joe, using one forearm to press on his throat, practically crushing his windpipe. Joe struggled to breathe.

HBNDHBND

 _December 2 – Along the Tiber River_

Frank chafed as the trucks and the men left. Where were Alyssa and Wight? He and George had no way to follow the vehicles. These animals would escape, and there would be no possible way to find out where they were going.

Suddenly, George grabbed his arm and pointed. "Frank."

Following the direction of her finger, Frank saw two figures walking down a dock. At least, one was walking. He was a great, heavy man, and he seemed to be dragging the other. That one looked small and slight in comparison, but Frank knew from the moment he saw him that that was only an illusion. It was Joe. It had to be.

Frank sprinted toward them. His heart sank as he saw the big man draw a gun and hold it against Joe's head. For a fraction of a second, a cold, numb despair settled over him, but then he remembered the gun that Wight had given him. He skidded to a halt, pulled the gun out from underneath his jacket, held it at arm's length, and shouted, "Stop!"

The man whirled around, still holding the gun against Joe's head. His other arm was around Joe throat, and Frank could see that his brother was struggling to draw his breath. Judging from the bruises on his face, he had also been beaten.

"Let him go!" Frank demanded, anger rising in him.

The villain was clearly sizing up his options. "Get back! I'll kill him."

"If you do, you're dead."

"If I don't, I'll be as good as dead," the man returned. "At least, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing I took him with me."

"No." Frank's hands shook and he felt sick to his stomach. "I'll let you go. Let him go and you have a free pass out of here."

"Then put down your gun."

Frank hesitated. For a moment, he was tempted to show his sincerity by doing as he was told, but he realized in time how foolish it would be. The man would never keep his word, and he would kill Frank, Joe, and George.

"I can't trust you," Frank said, "but I give you my word that if you lay down your own gun I'll let you go."

"Your word doesn't mean anything to me. We'll just have to do it my way."

The man shoved his gun harder against Joe's temple as he prepared to pull the trigger. The movement took less than a second, but it did three things. First, it convinced Frank that wasn't another moment to spare. Second, it shoved Joe's head out of the way of his captor's head. Third, it gave Frank just time enough to squeeze the trigger of his own gun.

There was no strangled cry, no fountain of blood. The man slowly toppled back off the end of the dock, dragging Joe with him into the water.

There was no time to think about what he had done. "Joe!" Frank cried, dropping the gun and running for the end of the dock. He dove in, forgetting in his panic to close his eyes or take a breath, so that he was forced to go back to the surface before he had had any chance to look for his brother.

"Joe!" he shouted again as soon as he had spit out the water that had entered his mouth, though he hardly expected Joe to hear or respond.

"Over there!" George was standing on the dock, pointing.

Frank turned in that direction and saw Joe floating face-down, being pulled along by the current. Frank struck out after him, reaching him a moment later. Without wasting a moment, he turned him over onto his back and began towing back toward shore. Hampered as he was, though, he could make no progress against the current.

George saw his difficulty immediately. She looked around her helplessly, hoping to find something, anything to use to help Frank. She spotted a coil of rope and wasted no time. Keeping firm hold of one end, she threw the other end to Frank. Mercifully, her aim was good, and Frank caught hold of it, and George began pulling him and Joe in toward shore.

Somehow between the two of them, they managed to haul Joe up onto the dock. Then, while George began checking Joe over, Frank climbed up by himself. He found Joe lying on his back with George bending over him, her ear close to his nose and mouth.

"He's not breathing," she announced in a faltering voice.

Frank stumbled to Joe's side and desperately felt for Joe's pulse. Nothing.


	31. Chapter 30: The Rescue

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to max2013, Caranath, Candylou, curlingduck, and Cherylann Rivers for your reviews since I posted the last chapter!_

Chapter XXX

The Rescue

 _December 2 – Along the Tiber River_

No pulse beat underneath Frank's fingers as he pressed against Joe's neck to feel for his carotid. The hideous fear that he had hit his brother when he had shot surged through him, but it was impossible. Joe had no bullet wound.

"Call an ambulance," Frank told George as he remembered his CPR training.

He checked Joe's airway for any obstructions and then began the regular rhythm of breaths and chest compressions. George was at his side a moment later.

"I don't speak Italian," she said her voice breaking. "I called Wight instead. He's calling. Can I help?"

"Do you know how?" Frank asked without breaking the rhythm of the chest compressions.

"Uh-huh," George replied.

"You take over the breaths then," Frank told her.

They worked feverishly over him for what seemed forever. Then Joe began to gag. Hope washed over Frank. Joe was still alive. Frank had never been so happy to see someone vomit before. When he checked him again, though, Joe still wasn't breathing on his own. It took several more cycles of CPR before Joe drew in a shaky breath.

"He's breathing," George reported, letting herself relax.

Again, Frank checked for a pulse, and this time, he felt a faint beating. He turned his face up to the heavens with relief as he let his tired arms fall to his side.

"Where is that ambulance?" George asked, glancing over her shoulder anxiously. "It's been forever. They should have been here by now."

Frank didn't reply. He just leaned forward and checked Joe's pulse again, just to make sure he hadn't made a mistake before. No, there had been no mistake. Then Frank devoted his efforts to searching for Joe for any injuries. It didn't take him long to find the stab wound in his leg, which was bleeding but not gushing blood.

He pulled away the wet, torn bandage and asked George if she had anything dry he could use to replace it. Wordlessly, she took off her jacket, pulled out her pocketknife, and cut off one sleeves, which she handed to Frank. He tied it securely over Joe's wound. It would do until the ambulance.

Joe groaned and winced as pressure was applied to his wound. He blinked and opened his eyes.

Frank scooted closer to his head. "Joe?"

Joe's eyes seemed to focus on his brother for a moment, but then he closed them again. He mumbled something.

"What was that, Joe?" Frank leaned closer. "What did you say?"

"Taking… Riva del Fiume. Enrico…" Whatever else Joe said unintelligible for it trailed off as he again lost consciousness.

The sound of a siren filled the air. A moment later, an ambulance arrived, followed by Alyssa Roche's car. Three EMTs jumped out of the ambulance and hurried to Joe's side, pushing Frank and George out of the way.

"What happened?" Wight asked, a little breathlessly.

Frank paused, not sure whether he was up to explaining what happened to anyone yet. He was grateful when George jumped in.

"We found those creeps' hideout," she said. "When we got here, they were loading everyone up in trucks to take them somewhere. Where have you two been? While you've been goofing off, they all escaped. Well, most of them. One of them had Joe and he was about to kill him but…" She glanced at Frank. "I mean, he really was about to kill him. There was nothing else Frank could do."

For the first time, now that his fears for Joe had been somewhat allayed, it sank in with all its appalling intensity that Frank had killed another human being. True, he had been sorely provoked, but that didn't change how sickening it was. He wished he could just black out and wake up when the nightmare was a little farther in the past.

While he was wishing that, George finished explaining the whole thing to the others. Wight, evidently noticing how pale Frank had become, led him back to the car and told him to sit down.

"Your brother is alive and safe, and that's the main thing," Wight told him reassuringly. "If what George says is true, there shouldn't be any difficulty proving that the shooting was justified. It would be even easier if we could have caught the others and proved a little easier what kind of person this fellow was."

"It must have been some shot, though." Alyssa whistled admiringly. "To hit that guy from that far away, and with your brother right there, too. You must be some kind of sharpshooter or else ridiculously lucky not to have hit Joe."

Seeing how little good the reminder of the risk Frank had been forced to take was doing him, George quickly interjected, "Joe woke up for a couple seconds. He said something about somebody named Enrico and 'taking Riva del Fiume.' Do you think 'Riva del Fiume' could be where they took the other prisoners?"

"Nah," Alyssa said quickly. "That just means 'riverbank' in Italian. He was just rambling."

"He doesn't speak Italian," George pointed out. "I doubt he'd be rambling in it."

"There's a small village called that farther upriver," Wight recalled. "It's worth checking out."

The police arrived a few moments later, and the half hour was rough. Long before the police had finished questioning Frank and George, Joe had been taken away in the ambulance, heading for a hospital in Rome. Given the circumstances and Wight, whom the police seemed to have a great deal of respect for, putting in a good word for him, Frank wasn't arrested, and he and George were even given a ride to the hospital in a police car. Meanwhile, Wight, Alyssa, and the other officers went to check on the Riva del Fiume clue.

Frank paced the waiting room when they arrived while George watched him anxiously. "I need to call Callie and Mom and Dad," he said suddenly, reaching for his phone. He stared at it in confusion when the screen remained black even though he pressed the button several times.

"Getting dunked in the Tiber probably didn't do it any good," George reminded him.

"Yeah, I guess not," Frank admitted. "Could I borrow yours?"

George hesitated. "It'll only be a few minutes until we know for sure how he is. Why not wait? You don't want to worry them for no reason."

Frank had to agree, but he wished he could hear Callie's or his parents' voices. True to George's word, however, it was less than five minutes later that a doctor came out and made his way to Frank and George.

"Are you relatives of Joe Hardy?" he asked in perfect English.

"I am," Frank said. "I'm his brother, Frank. How is he?"

"He's not in any danger," the doctor reassured him. "I gave him a sedative, so he's still asleep. He needs complete rest for at least a week. I want him to stay here for two days for observation to make sure there are no complications from drowning, but if there are none in that time, you'll be fine to take him home. Well, not all the way back to the United States, but he won't need to stay in the hospital after that. As for his other injuries, they mainly need rest. The wound in his calf is the most concerning. He'll definitely need to stay off that leg for a couple of weeks at least and keep it elevated as much as possible. I'll prescribe antibiotics in case of an infection."

Frank nodded and then asked, "Can I see him?"

"Go ahead," the doctor invited him. "You can sit with him until he wakes up. It will probably be helpful to him to have someone close to him there."

Frank was about to hurry to Joe's room when George stopped him. "Do you want to call your parents and Callie now? Or I can, if you want. I won't tell them everything that happened if you don't want me to. Just what happened to Joe and that he's all right now."

"Sure," Frank agreed, secretly thinking that the fewer times he would have to repeat the story, the better. "Ask Callie to come here. It should be safe now. If Wight and Alyssa haven't caught those people yet, they must at least have them on the run by now."

He hurried away, and George went back to the waiting rooms to place the calls. It felt a little awkward calling Fenton and Laura and Callie, none of whom she knew very well. After she made the calls, she sat still for a long while, not sure whether she felt like crying or having a drink or taking a nap that would last a couple of days. Most of all, though, she found herself feeling lonely, especially for one voice in particular. She had a good hour or two before anyone would need her or want her for anything. That would be plenty of time to call Burt, tell him all about everything that happened, and maybe begin talking about the future. It was about time.

Meanwhile, Frank was sitting next to Joe's bed, trying to process the last few hours. They were the only two people in the room, and Joe was fast asleep. Frank tried to focus on thinking about how if he hadn't pulled that trigger, Joe wouldn't be peacefully sleeping now, and though that helped a little, it didn't stop him from staring down at his hands as if they were covered in the man's blood. The scene replayed in his mind over and over as he tried to reason out whether there hadn't been some other way. He told himself that if that had truly been the only way to save Joe, he would have done it again, but he just felt he couldn't be sure.

He must have been agonizing over it for more than an hour before Joe stirred, opened his eyes and looked around him. At first, confusion was evident in his face, but then he saw Frank sitting next to him and relaxed.

Frank shoved his own concerns aside. He could worry about all that later. "You're safe now, Joe. You're okay."

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"Quite a bit," Frank told him. "Don't worry about it now. I'll tell you all about it later."

"How did you get me away from them?" Joe went on, either ignoring what Frank had said or not having heard it. "Last I remember, they were hitting…"

"Don't think about that now," Frank interrupted hastily. He was afraid that this incident might cause Joe to relapse into his PTSD that he had struggled with for a number of years.

Right now, though, it didn't seem to. Joe settled back into the bed and said, "I knew you'd find me, Frank."


	32. Chapter 31: A New Chapter

J.M.J.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! Thank you especially to everyone who have left reviews since I posted the last chapter: max2013, Highflyer, Candylou, EvergreenDreamweaver, Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, BMSH, Ritu, and Robot Wolf 26Z!_

Chapter XXXI

A New Chapter

 _December 8 – River Heights_

"I am definitely ready to head home," Nancy declared as she put the last of her belongings back in the suitcase that Ned had brought them in.

"And I'm ready to have you home," Ned replied. "So is Marian, even if she can't say so yet."

Nancy smiled fondly at the thought of her daughter. She had been surprised and more than a little pained at how much Marian had grown when she had finally been allowed to see her after ten days in the hospital. If she had felt before that she had been missing out on important milestones in her daughter's growth, she was feeling it even more sharply now.

She didn't say so just now, though. Instead, she merely said, "We'll have to do something for your parents to thank them for taking care of her so much in the last two weeks. We would have never gotten through this without them."

"They didn't mind," Ned assured her. "But you're right. We ought to think of something. Oh, the arrest was in the paper this morning. I brought it along in case you'd want to take a look at it."

Immediately after Art Carpenter's arrest and partial confession, officers had been sent to arrest Carl McGregor. McGregor, however, must have realized that his assassination attempt on Nancy had failed and the man he had sent had been arrested, for he had already made his escape by the time the officers reached his home. It had taken nearly a week, but finally he had been discovered hiding out in Chicago.

In the meantime, though, Carpenter had broken down and admitted that his initial story about McGregor using threats to get the nurse to work for him hadn't been strictly true. McGregor was behind it, he insisted, but he had used money rather than threats to convince him.

Now that McGregor had been arrested, the newspaper reported the entire story of what had happened and why McGregor had done it. He had discovered Walt Carril's ties to "Black Rose", which, of course, were really ties to the criminal organization that the Hardys had uncovered. Having heard vaguely about Black Rose, McGregor had decided to use whatever means he could to rid himself of Carril, finally deciding to trump up charges of stealing against him. That, however, had backfired when Carril, who was a hothead, threatened revenge.

McGregor expected the revenge to be personal, rather than being against the entire business, as Carril had never actually said anything about retaliating against the store. A personal stroke against him was the last thing McGregor needed, since even if the attempt wasn't successful, the investigation that would no doubt follow would reveal that McGregor had been embezzling from the store, as well as having a few illegal sidelines, including stealing customers' credit card information. The whole thing needed to be avoided altogether.

The best way to do that would be to get Carril safely arrested before he could try anything. With so much at stake, McGregor's idea was to plant a bomb in the warehouse and blame it on Carril. He had been careful to make sure no one was in the warehouse when the bomb was scheduled to go off, but when Nancy and Ned, whom he had called in thinking they would assume Carril was behind the explosion, insisted on searching the warehouse, that had nearly wrecked everything. McGregor couldn't insist they stay out of there without betraying the fact that he knew there was a bomb about to go off.

With Nancy seriously injured in the explosion, the stakes had been even higher than ever, but McGregor had thought he was safe. Then Nancy's interview had made him fear that she had figured it out, and in a snap decision born of complete desperation, McGregor had hired Carpenter, whom he knew from past experience to be unscrupulous, to keep Nancy silent.

Chief McGinnis had already told Nancy about this late yesterday, after McGregor had confessed, so there was little in the newspaper report that she didn't know. She did have to roll her eyes when she how much the newspaper had exaggerated the media's part in capturing the culprit, even though the media had essentially only been used by Nancy.

"Ugh," she groaned. "What is the matter with the news media in this town?"

Ned gave a crooked grin. "They're just always trying to make themselves look good, especially if they can make you look bad at the same time."

"I guess you're right," Nancy agreed. "Although they do fail at that, especially the part about making themselves look good. Well, anyway, let's go home."

Several hours later, Nancy was sitting on the loveseat in the little alcove off the living room, holding Marian as if she'd never let her go, which, in fact, she barely had since she had gotten home. She could hear Ned in the kitchen, where he was supposed to be making dinner, although it sounded more like he was rattling every pot, pan, and spoon they owned.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" Nancy called.

"No, I'm fine," Ned called back promptly. "You just relax."

"You know," Nancy went on, "Hannah and your mom sent us enough food to last until next Christmas. You really don't need to cook anything from scratch."

Ned, however, was determined, and so Nancy didn't push it any further. It was over an hour later that Ned finally came into the living room and flopped down on the loveseat next to Nancy.

"Whew!" he exclaimed. "I think I'll stick with hamburgers next time I decide to make dinner. But it's finally in the oven. It has to bake for another forty-five minutes. I hope you're not starving."

"No," Nancy assured him with a smile. "Actually, I have to confess. I got into the stock of chocolates a little while ago."

Ned grinned. "There are worse things you could confess to."

"But I've done nothing but sit around for two weeks," Nancy reminded him. "I'm going to need to get that gym membership and actually use it this year."

"Nancy," Ned said, abruptly changing the subject, "there's something that's been on my mind for a quite a while now. I didn't want to bring it up while there was so much other stuff for you to think about, but the more I think about it, the more I like it."

"What is it?" Nancy asked.

"You remember Coach Marshall?" Ned replied.

"For as much as you've talked about him, I'm not very likely to forget," Nancy said teasingly.

"He called the other day with a proposition for me."

"To go back to Emerson and play football?" Nancy teased him again.

Ned chuckled. "Not likely. Actually, he's going to retire in about five years, and the college is getting all excited because he's the best coach they've ever had and they don't know how they're going to replace him when the time comes. Of course, he didn't say that in so many words, but knowing him and knowing what he's done for the team and what the college thinks of him, it's not too hard to read between the lines. Anyway, they want to hire an assistant coach to work with him for the rest of the time he's going to be there and learn as much as he can from him and possibly take over as head coach in a few years."

"And they're offering it to you?" Nancy asked.

Ned nodded excitedly. "Since Emerson's such a small college, it doesn't pay as well as working for a bigger college would, or as much as detective work does. But it's only part of the year, so I could still do detective work the rest of the time. It would also mean moving to Emerson, and I don't know…"

"If that's what you want to do," Nancy interrupted, "then we'll do it. Being a detective is my dream. It's about time you get the chance for yours. We'll be fine as far as money is concerned. As for moving, Emerson isn't very far away, and maybe their reporters aren't as obnoxious as the ones in River Heights."

"Just like that?" Ned asked. "You don't even need time to think about?"

"Maybe a little time to get used to it," Nancy replied, "but you said you've thought about it, and it it's what you want, then it's what I want, too."

"Thanks, Nancy." Ned put his arm around her and pulled her and Marian closer to him. "I love you."

HBNDHBND

 _December 8 – Rome_

"Do you need anything else, Joe?" Callie asked.

Joe was on the couch in Frank and Callie's flat, his wounded leg propped up on a mound of pillows. His bruises had pretty well healed by now and there had been no complications from his near drowning, but his leg still hurt terribly and he had several broken ribs from the CPR. Frank and Callie, of course, had taken him in until he was well enough to go home.

"No, I'll be fine," Joe assured her. "You'd better get back to school, though. No sense missing any more classes."

Callie had only missed a week of classes through the whole ordeal, and after she had explained the circumstances to her professors, they had agreed not to penalize her for the missed class work. It did mean that she would have to go into her finals with little preparation, but she decided not to stress about it. She was confident that she could at least pass her classes and finish her degree, and that was the main thing she was concerned with.

"Okay," she said. "Frank should be back pretty soon, so if you need anything, wait for him. Remember, you've still got another day that you're supposed to be on complete bedrest, and moving you out here to the living room was already a concession. Don't push things by trying to walk around or anything like that."

"Yes, ma'am," Joe teased her, throwing her a mock salute.

Callie grinned and shook her head. Then she grabbed her backpack and headed out the door. It was nice to see Joe acting more normal again. With Joe's history of PTSD, Callie and Frank had been worried that this latest incident would cause him to have a major relapse. He hadn't, though, at least, not anything like the last time. He was just quieter, more thoughtful and introspective, and didn't try as hard to be the center of attention. He would still joke around and tease, but not as much as he used to. Yet, Callie reminded herself that it was probably mostly because Joe still had a long way to go to recovery. Once he was feeling more like himself, he would no doubt start acting more like himself.

About an hour and a half later, Joe heard the door open, and he sat up so he could see past the back of the couch. Frank and George were just coming in.

"Hey," Frank said, hurrying forward, "you're not supposed to be sitting up yet."

"Oh, all right," Joe conceded, settling back down. "I don't see what difference it makes, especially if I can sit up tomorrow. Besides, I feel fine, except when I breathe."

"Well, you'd better not stop breathing, after all the work we went to to keep you breathing," George replied, sitting in a chair opposite the couch.

Joe closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, painful as it was against his injured ribs. "Thanks, George. Uh, for saving my life."

George shrugged, trying to cover up her embarrassment. "It's not a big thing. It's not like I was just going to stand around while you died."

"It's kind of a big thing to me," Joe replied.

"Do either of you want something to eat or drink?" Frank interrupted, much to George's gratitude. "Then we'll tell you what happened, Joe."

He and George had spent the last week alternately getting questioned and helping to piece everything together. Thanks to Joe's clue about Riva del Fiume, about a dozen of the human traffickers had been captured and about forty prisoners had been rescued, among them the doctor who had initially treated Joe and who was little better than a prisoner himself. A few of the underlings of the operation had been offered deals if they would tell everything they knew, which two of them accepted readily. Because of them, several other members of the organization had been arrested, and this particular ring was well on its way to being crushed.

As it turned out, the story Enrico had told Joe about Black Rose was corroborated, and that legend could finally be laid to rest. They also learned the answers to all the other questions that had come up during the investigation.

Walt Carril had been an associate of the organization and had been assigned to keep an eye, from a distance, on Nancy, who, it was feared, knew more about Black Rose than she let on. When the bomb went off at the store where Carril had been fired, he had immediately been recalled to Rome, which was the central headquarters of the operation. The higher-ups had assumed that he had been responsible for the act, which could have easily spoiled their secrecy. They had Carril murdered in retaliation without giving him the chance to tell his side of the story. An operative in New York had also sabotaged Rachel Doving's plane in hopes that this would make it look as if the guilty party did not want Ned and the others to return to River Heights, making it appear unlikely that Carril would have been behind the crime

The would-be kidnapper whom Frank had stopped in the park had recognized him and panicked. He had told Enrico, the head of his particular branch, an exaggerated story about Frank being close on their trail, and so Enrico had had a bomb planted in Frank's apartment jus to be on the safe side. However, on reconsidering, Enrico had decided that the story wasn't very likely, so he hadn't followed up when the first assassination attempt had failed.

Manuel Sciarra, the man who had kidnapped Giada, was arrested and discovered not to have any real connection to Enrico's group. He was, however, in desperate need of money and had inadvertently found out about Enrico's connection to the human traffickers. He had seen his chance for a lot of money when he had seen Giada on the street all by herself, although in between kidnapping her and trying to turn her over to Enrico, he had spent several struggling with what little conscience he had to actually go through with it and set up the meeting.

Sciarra had met Enrico through one of Enrico's other avenues of income, for he was involved in a number of other illegal schemes, including smuggling and selling drugs, which was how Angelo had encountered him. Angelo was discovered before he had a chance to part company with the others. Because he had not actually committed any crimes in Italy as far as he was discovered, he couldn't be charged with anything there. His extradition to the U.S. to answer for his crimes there was currently being worked out.

As for Frank, given the circumstances, he was assured he wouldn't have any trouble for killing Enrico and could leave the country at any time. However, he, Joe, and George were asked to return when the members of the organization were going to trial so that they could testify.

"So, now that that's all straightened out, I'm headed back to the good ol' U.S. of A," George said when she and Frank had finished the story. "My plane leaves first thing in the morning, so I've got to get packed up. I guess I'll see you guys around some time."

After she had gone, Frank let his shoulders slump a bit. Joe looked at him questioningly.

"Is something wrong?"

It took Frank a few moments to answer. "You have no idea, Joe. I always knew it was a possibility, but I could always avoid it before. I just…" He trailed off.

Joe understood. He didn't remember anything about what had happened clearly after he had been beaten up. He vaguely remembered Enrico forcing him to go outside, but that was all. He'd been filled in the details later, though, and he knew what Frank had been forced to do for him.

"You know, he didn't leave you much of a choice," Joe reminded him.

"I know. But it doesn't change the fact that I…" Frank swallowed. "That I killed him. Or that I could have killed you by accident."

Joe nodded somberly. "I get it. I guess there probably isn't anything I can say that will make it any easier. I wish I could have changed what happened, but that doesn't count for much. I am grateful to you that you could do that. I mean, after all, I wouldn't be alive right now if you hadn't."

Frank knew that was true, but it didn't change the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Callie wants me to give up detective work," he said suddenly. "She doesn't like how dangerous it is, and she's afraid it will put our baby in danger. I didn't want to at first, but the more I thought about, I can see she's right. It will put our family in danger. And after what happened to you… I never want to be in a situation like that again. I never want Callie to be in a situation like that." He paused, taking a few deep breaths. He didn't want Joe to think that this was all just because he was scared.

Joe waited until he was sure Frank had finished. "Callie told me about that. About how she wants you to give it up."

"What did you tell her?" Frank asked, curious about how Joe would handle a situation like that.

"That I understood and that she wasn't wrong for wanting that. I do understand, and if that's what you want, too, it's okay."

Frank stared at his brother in astonishment. Joe was the last person he would have expected to react that way.

"There's just one question," Joe went on. "Is it really what you want?"

Frank sighed. "I don't know. I think it is, but…"

"Do you want my advice?" Joe asked.

"Sure, why not?" Frank replied, certain that Joe's advice would be a complete parroting of what his parents had told him when he and Callie had talked to them about it.

"Between Dad, Sam, you, and me, there are four field operatives in our agency," Joe pointed out. "Sometimes we need that many. Sometimes we could use more than that. But you know what we could use all the time and we don't have? A forensics expert."

"Forensics?" Frank repeated.

"Sure," Joe said. "You'd have to go back to school for several years. Probably do an internship with the NYPD or something for a while before you'd be ready to set up shop on your own, but have you ever thought how nice it would be to have our own forensics lab in our agency? The BPD would probably like it, too. You could set up a deal with them, and then they wouldn't have to send their forensics stuff to New York. You'd have a booming business, you'd still be working on cases, but it would be safe. I mean, what could happen in a lab? And anytime you wanted some excitement, we could find some field work for you to do. As for the school, it would take probably eight years or so and be pretty expensive, but since you'd be doing it for the benefit of the agency, we could pay some of it and chalk it up to a business expense. For that matter, we could talk to the Bayport police, and since you'd be helping them out, too, they might be willing to chip in. I don't really get the thrill of being in a lab, doing stuff with chemicals all day, but you like that sort of thing, and it seems like it could be a perfect solution for you."

Frank sat back, thinking this over for a little bit. "That's a good idea," he said finally. "It might just work."

"Sure, it will," Joe said, a little of his usual teasing tone in his voice. "I thought of it. So, now that that's all decided, how about a good, old-fashioned video game challenge, seeing how neither of us have anything better to do. I bet I can still beat you, and I never did get to play that one I bought back on Black Friday."

"You brought it along?" Frank asked incredulously.

"And the console," Joe replied. "I figured there would be some downtime in River Heights, and then I've just had to bring it along with me. We can hook it up to your TV here, can't we?"

"I'll see if I can," Frank agreed.

For the rest of the afternoon, they did nothing of real importance. Both felt a pang of regret at first at how strange it felt to just waste time together, but that wore off eventually, and they forgot for a little while about everything that had happened: Terry Shanth, the Moriares, Black Rose, Enrico.

Then Callie came home, and Frank jumped up to go to meet her at the door with a kiss. There had been a lot of pain in the last seven years, but Frank was reminded that there had also been a lot of good. There was no way to know what the future held, but at least Callie and Joe were here with him at the beginning of a new chapter.

 _A/N: So, here we are at the end of the story. Hopefully everything has been explained so that you understand it and that it ended satisfactorily to you. There is going to be at least one more addition to this series. It will be a short story (a few chapters long) that will tie up a few last loose ends. There may be another one after that, but I'll say more about that after the next story is posted._

 _Once again, thank you so very much for reading and to those of you who have favorited or followed! I really appreciate your support. Most of all, thank you to everyone who has left reviews! I love reading what you think, and your ideas often influence the story (or future stories ;) ). I hope to see you all again soon!_

 _~hbndgirl_


End file.
